


A Case of Identity – The Musical

by shamelessmash



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 1950s, Action/Adventure, Actor Sherlock Holmes, Alternate Universe, Angst, Case Fic, Dancing, Explicit for future chapters, Fanvid, Filming a Musical, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Fluffy Porn, Friends to Lovers, Fun, Happy Ending, Humour, In the first chapter, Irene Adler is an actress, Kidnapping, LSD, M/M, Minor Character Death, Movie Set, Musicals, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Old Hollywood - Freeform, Original Song, Pre-Slash, Romance, Singing, Slash, Slow Romance, Sort Of, Stamford is a producer, Stitches, Undercover, Undercover as an actor, Video, Writer John, Writer John Watson, and start from scratch, director john, forced to work together, forget s4, is that a thing?, not as bad as it sounds, s4 fix-it of sorts, the dancing case Sherlock always wanted, what s4, with special surprise at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 83,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessmash/pseuds/shamelessmash
Summary: A mysterious death on set causes chaos in Stamford productions latest movie. With the premiere date left unchanged, they must find a new lead actor and reshoot an entire movie in two months.Sherlock Holmes goes undercover as a lead actor in a Musical: a juggling act to solve a murder while singing, dancing and charming his way through 1950s Hollywood.The last thing he expected was to fall in love with the screenwriter along the way,Or as I like to call it: the case where Sherlock finally gets to dance.Based offthis prompt.





	1. The Set Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [between_spaces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/between_spaces/gifts), [May_Shepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/May_Shepard/gifts).



> This story takes place in Hollywood in 1950, however, please keep in mind that I did not do any extensive research on this era, or on filming techniques. I did just enough research to set the scene and get this story going.
> 
> This is also my reaction (well, one of many) to S4 (or as I like to call it: What series 4?). Which is why it was important that it be as far away from canon as possible, make it FUN and HAVE A HAPPY ENDING. There will be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster to get there, but A HAPPY ENDING.
> 
> I have a lot of people to thank, namely [novemberhush](https://novemberhush.tumblr.com/) for the prompt.
> 
> A special thanks to [may-shepard](http://may-shepard.tumblr.com/) for A- rebloging the prompt and B- pushing me to write the thing. Editing this long-fic while beta-ing yours as you edited your long-fic while beta-ing mine was a wonderful experience an I hope the universe will let us have perfect editing timing once more. You all should go read [The Burning Heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13144062/chapters/30063975), it is GOLDEN ANGST.  
> Come to think of it, it's probably best to read The Burning Heart first, than come read this one to feel better. It's punched in the feels repeatedly with an Angst baseball bat with nails. (I am not kidding.)
> 
> A heartfelt thank you to the wonderful writers I met at the 2017 Fic Writing Retreat who are not only the most awesome people ever, but the most inspiring, beautiful, clever, intelligent, funny, accepting and supportive group EVER. Thank you for existing, and for telling me to keep going when I explained what was planned for this story.
> 
> And of course to my beautiful [not-john-watson](http://not-john-watson.tumblr.com/), love of my life, the person who got me to start writing in the first place. I know your life was crazy during the creation of this fic and couldn’t be as there as much as you would have liked. I just hope this story will make you smile and give you a little bit of joy in your days. And then text me to scream and tell me to write MOAWR.
> 
> Okay, I’m done with the thank you's, yall go read the thing now.
> 
> P.S.  
> I, uh… I tend to get carried away with my projects and get these crazy ideas. Sometimes my crazy ideas happen.  
> Be on the lookout for a special something around chapter 12. EDIT: Stuff happened while editing, it's chapter 13 now.
> 
> CAST & CREW  
> Producer: Mike Stamford  
> Stamford’s Assistant: Molly Hooper  
> Director: Jimmy Morgan (For story sake, let’s just pretend we don’t know who this really is, okay?)  
> Assistant Director/Morgan’s assistant: Janine Hawkins  
> Lead Actress/Jane: Irene Adler  
> Ms Adler’s Assistant: Ms Kate  
> Lead Actor/Edward: Philip Anderson  
> Scriptwriter: John Watson  
> Gofer: Archie  
> Costumes: Kitty Riley  
> Props: Sarah Sawyer  
> Hair & Makeup: Helen Louise  
> Choreography: Bill Wiggins  
> Musical director/arrangements: Dick Dimmock (TO BE FAIR: In the episode credits, this character is called DI Dimmock. So I called him Dick.)  
> Sound technician: Jonathan Small  
> Lighting designer: Bill Murray  
> Set designer/builder: Sebastian Moran  
> Cameraman: Wilder  
> Security: Greg Lestrade

**Monday, April 15 th, 1950 – 60 days before the Premiere**

“ _Oh, Edward_.”

“ _Oh, Jane.”_

The actors ran to one another, and just as they were about to meet-

“Cut!”

The word echoed loudly in the studio.

The actors fell out of character, arms dropping away from one another.

“Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut!” The director, Jimmy Morgan, threw his script onto the concrete floor. “I told you this scene isn’t about the words, it’s about your colours coming together.”

The assistant director, Janine Hawkins, turned to the two women next to her and nodded. They quickly made their way to the actors under the bright lights. The short blond one, Helen Louise, started touching up the lead actress’s hair, Irene Adler. The other, Kitty Riley, taller with red hair and sharp eyes, brushed lint off the lead actor’s jacket, Philip Anderson, as she batted her eyelashes at him.

The rest of the crew watched the producer, Mike Stamford, a burly man in a brown suit and tie, as he spoke to the director.

“What is it this time?”

Morgan stood from his chair, his white silk scarf dangling left and right at the brisk movement, and started pacing. “I can’t work like this.”

Stamford looked from the distressed director, to the rest of the crew who were now whispering amongst themselves. Most likely betting on the outcome of today’s director tantrum, from what he had heard of the set gossip.

Stamford put on his supportive smile and headed over to Morgan. “Do you need to take five?”

Morgan scoffed but did not stop pacing. “I need more than five, I need a God damn miracle!”

There was murmur behind them, pushing Stamford to grab Morgan’s arm and pull him aside. He waited a moment, but Morgan stayed silent even though he looked like he was about to blow.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” Morgan tugged his arm free. “What’s _wrong_? This entire movie is wrong!” He walked onto the sound stage, pulling the scarf around his neck. “I’m trying my best to create something beautiful, something that will blow everyone away, and it’s all _shit_. The half-baked sets, the poorly tailored costumes, the second-class music, a lead actor who can barely lead a Waltz. And don’t get me started on this script! I don’t care what you say Stamford, you can’t polish a turd!” He kicked the script on the floor. “This excuse for a story is the root of it all.” Morgan racked his fingers through his hair ignoring the crew’s stares. “It isn’t, it isn’t…”

Ms Hooper appeared by Stamford’s side during Morgan’s monologue, making him jump when she spoke. “Mr Stamford, sir?”

“Not now, Ms Hooper.” Stamford replied in a hushed voice and turned back to Morgan. “What? it isn’t what?”

 “Alive!” Morgan took one last step to the centre of the sound stage and spun, throwing his hands in the air. “This movie depends on the story, and this one is stagnant. Even with my magic I can’t breathe life into it.”

Ms Hooper put her hand on Stamford’s arm and squeezed gently. He turned to her, surprised. She looked him in the eye and calmly said. “Mr Wilkes is here.”

“Mr Wilkes... _Oh_.” Stamford looked around worriedly. “Yes, thank you Ms Hooper, tell Mr Wilkes I will be right with him.”

Ms Hooper nodded and made her way off set, the sound of her heels loud in the nervous silence as Stamford walked over to Morgan. “We have a production meeting tonight, let’s discuss it then, all right?”

“Fine.” Morgan whipped his scarf over his shoulder and walked off set, the exit door slamming shut behind him.

There was a murmur amongst the crew as they begrudgingly handed money to a smiling Bill Murray, the lighting designer. But as soon as Stamford looked at them, the crew dispersed. Stamford looked at his pocket watch and sighed.  He waived to Morgan’s assistant, Ms Hawkins.

“Is there anything you can work on without Morgan for the last hour?”

Ms Hawkins smiled apologetically and shook her head. Stamford sighed and nodded to her.

She immediately took out her bullhorn. “That’s a wrap for today, thank you everyone, we’ll resume tomorrow at eight am for the dress rehearsal of the finale.”

Stamford thanked her and quickly made his way offset as the crew went to work. The stage was flooded with people to get ready for the next day. Brushing off Ms Riley and Ms Louise, the lead actors stepped off the sound stage. Mr Anderson followed Ms Adler like a lapdog, while she ignored him. She was focused on her personal assistant, Ms Kate, waiting with a bottle of water by the camera. They spoke in a hushed tone as they walked to her dressing room. Anderson tried to follow them, but was stopped dead in his tracks by the door closing in his face. He looked over his shoulder at the seemingly uninterested crew, grumbled momentarily, and retreated in his own dressing room. A few laughs broke out as Anderson’s door closed, but it didn’t slow down their work.

Ms Riley knocked on Ms Adler’s door. It opened, a dress was thrust into her arms, before closing once more. Ms Riley sighed, rearranged the dress over her forearm as she sidestepped to the next door on the left, Anderson’s dressing room. She looked over her shoulder quickly, rearranged her cleavage and knocked. There was some ruckus inside before the door opened.

Anderson stood there with his chest puffed up. It deflated when he saw Ms Riley. “Oh, it’s you. What is it?”

Her smile didn’t falter. “I’m here to pick up your costume, sir.” She held up Ms Adler’s dress as visual support. Her movement placed her dress covered arm in front of her eye-catching cleavage.

Anderson’s eyebrow rose and after a beat he looked up into her eyes. “Right, of course. Come on in.” He stepped aside, holding the door open for her.

“Thanks, sugar.” She winked and stepped inside.

Anderson’s eyes followed her inside before his feet did. Neither Anderson nor Ms Riley noticed the rest of the crew watching as they worked.

“Looks like somebody’s working their way to the top.” Murray, the lighting designer, said to Small, the sound tech, and Wilder, the cameraman once the dressing room door was closed.

Wilder chuckled, Small didn’t respond.

“Tonight’s meeting is sure to be a blast, eh?”

Small kept rolling cable. Wilder shrugged.

Murray continued, used to being the only one to talk. “I bet Watson’s going to punch him.”

Small tusked. “He has more control than that.” Wilder nodded his approval.

“Yeah, but I’m saying a punch is the best-case scenario for Morgan.” Murray explained, making them all laugh.

“For the record,” Ms Hawkins cut in, one hand holding a clip board and the other on her hip. “Morgan can defend himself. Now get to work if you want time to eat before the meeting.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Murray replied with a smile and a wink.

Ms Hawkins made sure no one was looking before she winked back.

* * *

  **Monday evening – Conference room**

“I don’t know what to tell you anymore.” Stamford said patiently. “It is what it is.”

“Well, what it is, is _shit_.” Morgan tossed the new script pages across the conference table.

The pages slid past the crew sitting at the table, including Dimmock, the musical director, and Bill Wiggins, the choreographer. The script skidded to a halt a few inches away from Stamford at the other end of the table. He looked to his right where the writer, John Watson, was leaning against the wall. He had his arms crossed, jaw clenched and was staring straight ahead.

Stamford sighed and turned back. “Morgan, we’ve talked about this already...”

“Don’t you dare tell me to settle! I know writers. Good ones.”

“You didn’t even read the whole thing.” Watson commented through clenched teeth.

“Because It’s boooring.” Morgan sung. “Let me guess, they end up together in the end? Sooo predictable.” Enunciating each syllable mockingly.

Watson pushed off the wall. His cane suddenly seemed like a weapon, causing Stamford to cut in.

“Yes, they end up together at the end, because that’s what we want, that’s what the public wants.”

Watson stared at Morgan, grip tight on his cane, but did not move any further.

Morgan scoffed. “You know I don’t give the public what they want. I try to elevate them. I don’t _do_ silly love stories. I take something that matters and explore it in depth.” He stared back at Watson as he spoke.

Watson pursed his lips and slightly tilted his head to the side, but did not move.

“Morgan, enough,” Stamford insisted. “You knew this is what I was hiring you for. We’re already over budget, we can’t afford to reshoot.”

Morgan looked at the ceiling, at the script, then at Stamford. “Alright, but if I stay, you fire the writer.”

“Morgan,” Stamford warned.

Morgan put his feet up on the table. “I’ll rewrite the script. Piece of cake.”

Watson had a murderous look in his eye, yet his voice was calm. “Which movie are you going to rip off this time? You already did Modern Times.”

Something flashed in Morgan’s eyes as he looked him from head to toe. “We all know the only reason you’re here is because of Stamford’s pity. Writing’s the only thing a _cripple_ can do.”

Stamford slammed his fist on the table. “Stop it, both of you, immediately.” He looked at them with hard eyes. “We’re all professionals here, now _act like it_.”

They all waited the long seconds while Watson and Morgan sat down, the squeaking of leather and passive-aggressive coughing contributing to the general discomfort.

“Alright.” Stamford looked around the table and smiled tightly. “Now that that’s resolved; Ms Hawkins, what’s next on the agenda?”

“Tomorrow’s Finale dress rehearsal.” She replied. “Moran, where are we on the set?”

“The stairs and balcony will be up and ready.” Moran replied. “Paint will to be done after rehearsal. It’ll be ready for filming.”

“Perfect. Wiggins, how’s choreography?”

“Besides Anderson you mean?”

“Wiggins,” Stamford warned patiently.

He raised his hands defensively. “Hey, you get what you paid for…”

Ms Hawkins tapped her pen on her clipboard twice. “Wiggins, please.”

“I’ll make it work. But you better have extra rolls of film this time.” Wiggins crossed his arms.

Stamford sighed. “Can’t you just dumb down the choreography for him?”

Wiggins stared. “Do you really think I didn’t do that already?”

“Right, well, I’m sure you did your best.”

“Damn straight.” Wiggins muttered.

Ms Hawkins continued to Ms Riley. “How about costumes?”

“Ms Adler and Mr Anderson will have their outfits for the rehearsal, but we’ll need them back for finishing touches.”

“I thought I told you to go easy on the sequins.”

Ms Riley looked uncomfortable. “Ms Adler insisted.”

“Of course, she did.” She smiled at Ms Riley and turned to Dimmock. “How are we with music?”

“Ready.”

“Great, so, unless anyone has something to add, that will be all.” She paused and looked around the table. “Thank you everyone, see you tomorrow.”

Everyone actively ignored Watson as he quickly stood and stormed out of the conference room. The murmur of voices drowned out the sound of his cane echoing in the corridor as the door closed behind him.

* * *

  **Tuesday morning – 59 days before the Premiere**

Just like any other day filming, Wilder was the first one in, unlocking the studio, switching on the power for the day. Even though this morning was rehearsal and they weren’t filming, Wilder liked to look at the scene through the camera lens, his way of preparing for filming.

Greg Lestrade, the head of security, walked in shortly after, making a quick round before anyone else came in. Everything was as they had left it the day before.

Murray popped in third with a grumpy face, carrying a large thermos. He poured coffee into two cups and handed one to Wilder. He poured another when Ms Hawkins walked in, the sound of her heels announcing her presence before she could be seen. She dropped the paper bag filled with pastries next to the thermos and took Murray’s offered mug like a precious treasure.

She moaned at the first sip, making Murray blush before they went to work.

Ms Riley was next in, shortly followed by Small, holding the daily paper and a book.

It wasn’t until seven thirty that Ms Riley found Ms Hawkins.

“We, uh, have a bit of a problem.”

“As in?”

“Helen isn’t here yet. She needs to start Ms Adler’s hair, or we won’t be ready on time.”

“Hm, Anderson is late too.”

“You don’t think…”

Ms Hawkins raised an eyebrow to Ms Riley. “She wouldn’t be the first.”

Their conversation was cut short by the studio door slamming open. “I’m here!” Ms Louise announced and ran to them. “I’m here, the tramway got delayed.”

“Come on, maybe if I help you we’ll finish on time.” Ms Riley said with a frown.

“Is she in a good mood?” Ms Louise asked as they headed back to Ms Adler’s dressing room.

Ms Riley just pursed her lips, making Ms Louise look like she wanted to hide under a rock.

Ms Hawkins watched them from the corner of her eye as she took note of the situation on her clipboard. She was about to continue her round, when the studio door opened, and Anderson walked into the studio. Even from the other end of the studio Ms Hawkins thought he looked unusually sweaty, which was explained when Wiggins pushed through the door, looking like he was biting his tongue. He went directly for the coffee and pastries, while Anderson shut himself in his dressing room.

Ms Hawkins sighed, went to Ms Adler’s dressing room and knocked. Ms Riley answered, looking worried.

“Anderson just arrived, he was rehearsing with Wiggins.”

“Oh.” Looking over her shoulder apologetically. “Right, thanks.” And closed the door gently.

Ms Hawkins shook her head and went to see Wiggins who was holding his coffee like the holy grail.

“Bit of early morning rehearsal?” She asked with a smile, topping off her own coffee.

All she got was Wiggins miming he was washing his hands of it all before taking a huge bite of a donut.

That’s when Morgan arrived, sunglasses covering almost half of his face, wearing a three-piece suit with a beret that matched his waistcoat. His presence changed the atmosphere, charging the cast and crew with nervous energy, wondering how the day would go based on the director’s mood.

Ms Hawkins poured him coffee as he strutted to his chair and flopped onto it.

“Good morning, Mr Morgan.”

He took the coffee mug and hunched over it, staring into the dark liquid, letting the steam fog up his sunglasses. “It is morning, but I’m still unsure if it is a good one,” And took a sip.

“Anything I can do to help?” Ms Hawkins offered with a sympathetic smile.

He looked up, paused. “Kill me?”

She smirked. “Very funny, sir.”

He tilted his head. “Kill Watson?”

She crossed her arms. “Well aren’t you in a murderous mood this morning.”

He leaned his head on his free hand. “Anderson, maybe?”

“Have you eaten today? Never mind, I’ll get you a donut.”

“Make it chocolate, love.” He called, sinking in his seat, and nursing his coffee.

At five minutes to eight, Ms. Hawkins took out her bullhorn. “Places everyone, we have three hours, let’s make them count.”

Anderson stepped out of his dressing room first, adjusting his cuffs. He looked good in the black and white suit, dark hair slicked back, but it was nothing compared to his mesmerizing co-star.

Ms Adler stepped out of her dressing room, but it seemed more accurate to describe it as an entrance on set; the dress fitted to her body as if it were painted on, the fabric falling loosely around her hips, flowing to the floor. Every sequin catching in the light. The overall effect made such an impression that the room fell silent.

“You look…” Anderson started to say, the salacious look in his eyes completing his sentence.

She eyed him from head to toe as well. “And you look…” she pursed her lips, unimpressed.

Ms Adler flipped her hair and walked over to Morgan to greet him, while Anderson stood there, eyes wide.

“Morgan, darling, how are you.” Ms. Adler said with a flourish.

“Better now that I’ve seen your face.” Morgan replied as he kissed her hand.

Anderson wasn’t far behind. “Mr Morgan.”

Morgan sighed. “Anderson.” He turned to the man and crossed his arms. “Try not to trip and fall this time.” Before Anderson could react, Morgan turned and shouted. “Alright, let’s do this!”

Ms Adler plastered on her fake smile and took Anderson’s arm. “Come on, we’ve got this.”

Ms Hawkins turned to the crew and nodded. Murray turned on the fixtures and flooded the sound stage with bright lights. Small was there to mic the band so the music could be heard by the actors in the speakers hidden around the set. They couldn’t be closer to the sound stage without affecting the lighting, so it was simpler to place them in one corner of the studio and hide speakers around the set. He kept everything on mute until Dimmock raised his arms to direct the orchestra.

Ms Riley was lingering along the sound stage with Ms Louise, making sure all was in order before lingering around Angelo’s catering table.

Anderson pulled on his shirt collar, as Small adjusted the volume of the orchestra while they tuned. The actors signaled when it was to their liking and stood on their mark.

“Ready.” Ms Hawkins called in the bullhorn.

With Morgan’s hand signal to Dimmock, the music started. Anderson started singing first, shortly followed by Ms Adler as they waltzed around the stage.

However, Anderson’s box step was so stiff that it seemed like Ms Adler was dancing with a wall. When they danced side by side it was even worse. He looked like a dancing elephant next to a swan ballerina.

“Cut.”

Morgan stared at Anderson, the silence in the room heavy for the cast and crew. “Anderson, you’re not a vase, you’re a flower that blooms in the presence of your love.” He pointed to Ms Adler. “I need you to bloom. Bloom for me.”

“Bloom, right.” Anderson said with a nervous laugh.

“Relax, Anderson.” Ms Adler whispered as they took their places.

“From the top. Action!” Morgan called, and music filled the room.

This time Anderson looked like a smiling wall, making the overall effect even more awkward. Stamford arrived into the studio then, with Ms Hooper at his side, the two of them talking in hushed tones and quietly sat in their assigned chairs behind Morgan. By the time they reached the side by side, Anderson tripped and almost hit Ms Adler in the face.

“Cut!” Morgan took off his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anderson. Do you not know the definition of blooming?”

“I-I do, sir.”

“Then fucking bloom.”

Murray looked at the clock then and smiled. He reached out his hand to Small who reluctantly handed him money.

“Again.” Morgan waited until they were at their mark. “Action!”

They barely made it to the first spin when Morgan shouted.

“I said bloom!”

Ms Adler tried to speak through her smile. “Anderson, get it together.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

Anderson took three deep breaths and focused on the music, which helped, but when they made it to the side by side sequence, he had to look away from Ms Adler. He ended up staring directly at Morgan, which caused him to trip and fall.

Morgan growled and grabbed Ms Hawkins’s bullhorn. “Stop!”

The word echoed in the room. The abrupt end to the music amplified the dramatic effect.

Morgan handed the bullhorn back to Ms Hawkins. “Why do we have to go through this at every damn dance number.” Morgan moaned and then tilted his hand back and shouted. “Bill!”

Wiggins put down his second donut and nodded at Angelo’s sympathetic smile before he walked up to the director’s chair. “You shouted.”

Morgan spoke in a controlled hushed voice. “Is there a god damn reason Anderson can’t make it past that part?”

“Yes. There is.” Wiggins replied without hesitating.

Morgan was about to reply when Ms Hawkins whispered into his ear. The director nodded to her and leaned closer to Wiggins.

“Is the reason something other than his lack of talent?”

“Nope.”

Morgan growled in frustration. “Stamford!”

“Yes?”

His voice came from behind Morgan. The director turned and kicked his chair aside to clear a passage to Stamford. They did not notice Murray handing money back to a grinning Small.

Morgan took off his sunglasses in a flourish. “This is what you give me to work with?”

Stamford looked from Morgan, to Ms Hooper, to the crew that had all seemingly taken a step closer, but carefully making it look like they were not paying attention.

“Let me talk to Anderson.”

Stamford stood, nodded to Ms Hooper and signalled Wiggins to come closer. All three spoke together in a hushed tone before making their way onto the sound stage.

Ms Adler was fiddling with her nails and looking bored, while Anderson looked like he was about to lose it.

“Please don’t fire me.” Anderson blurted when they arrived.

Stamford chuckled. “I’m not firing you.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Stamford turned to Wiggins, who crossed his arms but spoke to Anderson. “Bit of nerves?”

Anderson tried to smile but it turned into a sharp nod.

“Would you like to go over the choreography again?”

“I…” Anderson let his shoulders sag. “That’s probably best, yeah.”

Stamford nodded to Ms Hawkins.

She turned to the crew and shouted, “Twenty-minute break everyone, twenty minutes, thank you.”

Murray stood and stretched. “Thank God, I need a piss.”

Ms Riley and Ms Helen rolled their eyes at the comment and headed to the catering table. Small didn’t respond, just leaned back in his chair and pulled out a book. Wilder, as always, started walking around, going from one end of the studio to the other. 

Stamford, Ms Hooper and Ms Adler stood out of frame, clearing the space for Wiggins and Anderson. Ms Hawkins joined the group, but kept an eye on Morgan, who was pacing on the edge of the sound stage. Close enough to hear, but far enough not to interfere.

Wiggins put his hands on his hips. “Okay, just the side by side, I’ll do it with you at half beat.”

They did it three times, with Wiggins calling the movements.  By the third try Anderson made it through without missing a step.

“Right then,” Wiggins turned to Ms Adler, “Ms Adler, if you please.”

“Of course, Bill.” She took his place and batted her eyes at her co-star. “Ready, darling?”

Anderson nodded and on Wiggins's count, they went through the side by side and managed to get through without a hitch.

“Once more, yeah?” Stamford pleaded, trying to keep his smile he was struggling.

Anderson was getting through the routine, but not seamlessly. Wiggins still looked like and elephant dancing with a swan. The second time was better, which seemed to calm Morgan. But when they tried with the music, Anderson messed up before they even made it a quarter through, Morgan complained loudly and Stamford could feel his blood pressure increase.

“Stamford this is ridiculous,” Morgan took the cigarette Ms Hawkins was offering him. “How can someone could get worse by practicing?”

Stamford begged Ms Hooper closer. “Can we get something for nerves?”

Ms Hooper turned to Ms Hawkins, who nodded.

“We’ll be right back.”

They returned shortly after with what could only be assumed was the nurse, with her white dress and bonnet with the red cross on her short curly blond hair. She was holding a small glass of chalky white water.

“Over here, Ms Rosie.” Ms Hooper told her as she guided her onto the sound stage.

Ms Rosie smiled at Anderson, who returned it with difficulty, stress seeping through his features. “Mr Anderson,” She offered him the glass. “This is an antacid with a light opiate, to help with nerves. It’s often prescribed by doctors. I kept the dose light so that it doesn’t affect your balance for dancing.”

“Thanks, toots.” Anderson chugged down the liquid. He turned to Ms Louise to get his make-up fixed, but he was eyeing the nurse. “How long ‘til it works?”

She smiled. “Pretty quick.”

“If I get through today, I’ll come thank you personally.” Anderson winked at her.

Ms Rosie laughed politely, and everyone walked off the sound stage except Anderson and Ms Adler.

“Places everyone!” Ms Hawkins called through the bullhorn.

“It’ll be fine, lad.” Stamford said before they stepped off the sound stage.

Ms Hawkins took one last look at the crew and state before turning to Morgan. “We’re good to go.”

The director sat up in his chair, and nodded when he was ready.

The music started and this time the couple fell into the beat together, easing into the mood of the scene, their faces and bodies emoting the lovers coming together at last for their happily ever after.

They made it to the side by side and everybody on set held their breath as they both danced through. There was a murmur of excitement as Anderson held his end, his face bright with relief and joy. They danced their way to the stairs and up to the balcony for the last sequence that ended with a kiss.

Only Anderson seemed to be struggling up the steps, looking distracted. They made it to the top, but faltered on the last step. He recuperated quickly, making it seem like it was part of the act, but two beats later he tripped. His arms flew out, hands trying to grab hold of anything around him. He tethered around, trying to find his balance, and ended up against the balcony ramp. His face relaxed, letting out a breath of relief, when the next moment he toppled back and over the ramp, falling sixteen feet to the concrete floor.

There was a collective gasp, the loudest coming from Ms. Adler. It took them a moment for the music to stop, not until the first screams were heard.

Murray was the first to run up to the stage to check Anderson. 

The look on his face spoke before he could.

“He’s dead.”

**END CHAPTER 1**


	2. The Case

 

**Thursday evening – 57 days before premiere**

Stamford lobed the paper onto his desk. It landed next to Watson’s arm, halting his typing. The headline of The Hollywood Reporter read _Stamford Productions Cursed?_ In bolded font.

“I told you to stay away from the papers.” Watson unfolded it, and leaned back in his chair as he read the article. He had been using Stamford’s office to work on his scripts for so long that it felt like his office too.

Stamford pulled off his coat and hung it on the hook behind the door. “I am struggling enough as it is, I don’t need bad publicity on top of it all.”

Watson frowned when he got to the second paragraph of the article, and rolled his eyes when he recognised Magnussen’s name as the author. He put down the paper and watched Stamford pace.

“The set is closed for another 3 days, in which time I have to cast a new male lead that Morgan and Ms. Adler are willing to work with, who will also accept to work for pennies, which means an amateur, which is _complete_ business suicide. And then we still have to reshoot the entire movie in less than a month!” Stamford suddenly stopped, and sat heavily in the chair facing the desk, and held his head in his hands. “A curse, a bloody curse. And the worst part is, I’m starting to believe it.” He raised his head and looked at Watson with a desperate look in his eye. “How else can you possibly explain why my last three movies have done so badly? And they weren’t _all_ that bad, but nobody came to see them. Why? A bloody curse, that’s why!”

“Come on, Mike.” Watson stretched to the far left of the desk to pour them both a drink.

“At this rate I won’t even be able to afford to develop the film!”

Stamford gladly took the offered drink and drank it in one gulp. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, seeing Watson looking at him with a worried frown. “Just tell me something good. How is the rewrite going?”

Watson crossed his arms. “You want the truth or something good?”

“John, please.”

“I can’t just…” Watson huffed and shook his head. “I understand the reasons why you asked me to rewrite it but… I can’t just make it happen. It took me three months to write the first time, and now you’re asking me to do it in three weeks.”

“…Or less.” Stamford added in a pleading yet apologetic tone.

Watson looked defeated.

“You can do it, John. I know you can.”

Watson was about to reply, when he was cut off by a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Stamford called, his tone falsely bright.

Ms Hooper popped her head in. “Mr Lestrade here to see you, sir.”

Stamford nodded and stood. “Thank you, Ms Hooper.” He smoothed his waistcoat and hair quickly and stood next to the desk.

Lestrade stepped in and took off his hat. “Evening.”

“Lestrade, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, sir.”

Stamford waved his hand. “Not at all. What is this about?”

“Mr Anderson, sir.” Lestrade eyed Watson. “It’s rather sensitive information, I believe it’s best if we speak in private.”

Watson raised an eyebrow and watched Stamford, who did not look away from Lestrade.

“I trust this man with my life, Lestrade, you can speak freely in front of him.”

Watson leaned back in his seat and did not hide his smirk.

Lestrade straightened his back and focused on Stamford. “Officially, the police are ruling his death an accident.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Stamford blew out a breath of relief.

“Officially?” Watson asked.

Lestrade shifted his weight. “I have reason to believe that what happened wasn’t an accident.”

Stamford froze mid movement. “Come again?”

“It’s a theory,” Lestrade said to try and ease things, “but it’s worth investigating.”

Watson crossed his arms. “What theory is this, exactly?”

Lestrade looked from Watson to Stamford. “A setup, made to look like an accident.”

Stamford’s eyes widened before he spoke in a menacing tone. “Lestrade, things are bad enough as it is. I don’t need a bloody murder on top of it all.”

Lestrade nodded. “I understand that, sir.”

“Then you better have a bloody good reason to suggest such a thing.”

“What proof do you have?” Watson asked while Stamford tried to calm himself with another drink.

Lestrade looked uncomfortable. “None at the moment, but-”

Stamford scoffed. “Hearsay!”

“Stamford, I know how this sounds, but please, bear with me.” Lestrade took a deep breath. “Back in London, when I was a detective for Scotland Yard, I had a… colleague.”

Stamford and Watson looked at one another with an unimpressed look.

“A colleague.” Watson mocked.

“The setup, it’s his theory. He’s in town, he gave me a call, and well, here we are now.”

Stamford raised an eyebrow and slowly sank back in the chair. Watson straightened his back, shifted his weight in his seat as he clasped his hands on the desk, thumbs tapping.

“And how did this _colleague_ get his theory?” Watson asked while Stamford’s knuckles whitened from the grip on his drink.

Lestrade cleared his throat. “You can ask him yourself.”

Stamford snapped out of his stupor. “You brought him with you?” And turned to Watson, silently asking what he thought of this.

“Sort of.” Lestrade braced himself. “He’s waiting downstairs.”

Stamford looked like he wanted to throw his glass, but ended up standing and walking over to the window to stare outside.

“Look,” Lestrade straightened, “I know this is a very delicate situation, but I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t think he was on to something.”

Stamford didn’t move.

“He’s good. He’s better than good. I can’t explain half of what he does, but he gets results. Fast.”

Still no reaction. Watson picked up the paper to finish the article.

“I trust him with my life.”

That seemed to get Stamford’s attention. It also got Watson’s.

Lestrade took his chance. “Just listen to what he has to say, then decide what you want to do.”

Stamford turned to Watson, who shook his head and grabbed his cane.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with,” Watson grumbled.

When they walked out of the office, Ms Hooper smiled warmly at Lestrade, but it melted away when she saw Stamford’s frown. “Is everything all right, sir?”

“Hopefully, it will be.” Stamford replied with a tight smile. “We’ll be down at the studio.”

“Did you need me to-”

“No need,” Stamford cut her off. “No need, my dear, we’ll be right back.”

All three smiled tightly at Ms Hooper as they headed for the stairs. Lestrade slowed his pace so Watson could keep up.

“I, uh, should warn you,” Lestrade started to say, “my colleague, he wasn’t an officer for Scotland Yard. He was an outside consultant.”

“What kind of consultant?” Watson asked.

“He, um, calls himself a consulting detective.”

“Like a private detective?” Stamford asked.

“Sort of, yeah.” Lestrade looked like he found that funny.

Watson frowned. “I didn’t know Scotland Yard consulted amateurs.”

Lestrade looked irritated. “They don’t.”

They arrived at the bottom of the steps and Lestrade turned right. It was a long straight stretch to the studio door, where they could see no one waiting for them, and the studio door was ajar.

“Lestrade, what is this charade?” Stamford’s voice echoed loudly in the empty corridor. “Breaking into an active crime scene. If the police get word of this-”

“I told him to wait.” Lestrade looked livid.

They finished walking the long corridor in a tense silence.

“I swear, I’m bloody cursed.” Stamford said as he reached the studio door and walked in, jaw clenched.

Lestrade followed Stamford, leaving the door ajar. Watson stared at the darkness on the other side of the door before straightening his shoulders and marching in.

The large room was still dark except for the corridor light leaking in through the door, and the two red lights over the emergency exits at both ends of the studio.

“Here, let me just…” Lestrade walked over to the studio lights lever and switched it on. The metal clanged loudly, shortly followed by a buzzing as all the work lights flickered to life across the room.

It had always felt odd walking onto an empty set after they had wrapped up a movie. Now, with the sets still up, equipment abandoned everywhere, a few chairs fallen sideways, scripts and paper scattered everywhere, the set felt haunted. It was just as they left it, when Anderson plunged to his death.

The police had cleared a passageway from the door to the landing area, and blocked access by wood planks painted red and rope. When they arrived at the end of the passage, there was Anderson’s silhouette chalked out on the floor, complete with a dark stain around the head.

Stamford looked wrecked at the sight of it all. He smoothed back his hair, wiped his brow, and closed his eyes a moment. Lestrade, given his career, was less visibly affected by the crime scene, and had spent a lot of time here with the police in the last few days. Watson, on the other hand, it was his first time on set since the incident. He stood at attention at the feet of the chalk outline and bowed his head in respect for Anderson. He never really liked the man, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t affected by his sudden death.

He had been working in Stamford’s office when it happened. He had heard faint echoes of shouting, but that was the norm with Morgan as the director, so Watson hadn’t made much of it. Until Archie barged into the office. Watson closed his eyes once more. For the last few days his war dreams had started getting mixed up with his memories of that day.

After a moment, he opened his eyes, shook his head, and focused on the now. “So,” He turned to survey the surroundings. “Where is this… colleague of yours?”

“Here.” Came a deep voice behind them.

The man was standing in the middle of the cleared passage, black suit and white shirt hidden under a jacket, and dark trench coat that hung down to his knees, making him seem taller than he really was. His dark hair was slicked back with a slight wave at the end that caught in the light, the overall look accentuating his sharp cheekbones. He had his hands in his coat pockets, pale eyes staring at Stamford and Watson.

Stamford puffed out his chest. “How dare you break into my set? Who do you think you are? Explain yourself!”

“I was observing. People don’t try to hide when they believe no one is watching.”

Stamford frowned, taken aback by the response, as was Watson, who eyed the man more carefully. He recognised the London accent, but it was more posh than his.

Lestrade looked like he wanted to punch him. “Mike Stamford, John Watson, meet Sherlock Holmes,” Lestrade managed to say through clenched teeth. “The man who couldn’t wait.”

Holmes rolled his eyes.

“Sherlock Holmes,” Lestrade continued, “This is Mike Stamford, the owner of Stamford Productions, and John Watson, the screenwriter.”

Holmes eyes flickered over Watson. “Screenwriter barely covers it.”

Watson frowned. “Sorry, what?”

“You better have a good explanation for why you broke onto _my_ set?” Stamford stared at Holmes with a murderous look.

“I didn’t; it was unlocked.”

Stamford was affronted. Lestrade looked like he wanted to hide in a hole in the ground. Watson’s initial confusion and irritation grew into curiosity, as he fought off the urge to laugh.

“Lestrade says you think Anderson’s death wasn’t an accident,” Stamford pursued.

“That’s right.”

“Where did you get this ridiculous idea?”

Holmes looked at Stamford as if he were dimwitted. “It is not a ridiculous idea, it’s a theory based on facts.”

“And where did you get these _facts_?”

“In the paper.” He pulled a copy of the Hollywood Reporter out of the inside pocket of his trench coat and tossed it to Stamford. “This movie was the talk of the town when you managed to book the most sought-after actress in Hollywood with the most controversial director. Just that was enough to get the rumour-mill going. Add to that the leading man accidentally falling to his death during dress rehearsal of the finale number, and the papers would be all over it like a moth to the flame. The curse story was a nice touch, adding just the right twist to make this production the talk of the town. It’s such a perfect set up for fraud, I couldn’t have written it better myself.”

Stamford scoffed. “Fraud?” And handed the paper to Watson without looking away from Holmes.

“You got all that from the paper?” Watson’s voice betrayed his amazement.

“This is preposterous.” Stamford continued. “Why should I listen to a word you say?”

Holmes looked down at Stamford. “Because you don’t have a choice, what with the pending bankruptcy.”

Stamford’s eyes widened before he scoffed. “Bankruptcy? Who said anything about bankruptcy?”

“I did.” Holmes continued, ignoring Stamford’s face slowly turning red. “I initially thought you were pocketing the money on every production by not paying your suppliers. But I’ve eliminated that possibility now that I’ve met you, and seen the studio.” He added as he waved around.

“I beg your pardon.” Stamford sneered.

“It’s all here, you just have to look; the building has been in dire need of maintenance for at least six months. You shut down the power at night to keep the electricity bill to a minimum. The sets are being repurposed repeatedly,” Holmes waved a hand to their left. “The equipment is old and in most cases in need of replacement. It works, thanks to a long-term staff, but it’s still a temporary solution.”

“Holmes.” Lestrade warned when Watson took a step forward.

Holmes rolled his eyes and spoke to Stamford in a reassuring tone. “I’m trying to say that you’re an honest man.”

 Stamford smoothed the front of his suit and blew out a slow breath. “Okay.”

“Nevertheless, you are being framed for fraud, and I’m certain it’s linked to Anderson’s death.”

Stamford looked like his throat was not working correctly, pulled at his collar and took the few steps to the nearest chair to sit. Holmes eyed Watson’s military stance and the grip on his cane as he watched his friend helplessly.

“Mr Stamford, whoever is after your company,” Holmes’s tone was softer, reassuring. “I’m here to stop them and hopefully save your company in the process.”

Stamford looked at Holmes from head to toe. “Why should I trust you?”

Holmes stared him straight in the eyes. “Because Lestrade does, and you’re desperate.”

“God save me, I am,” Stamford admitted in a hushed tone and looked at Watson with worried eyes.

Watson was staring at Holmes with a mixture of passive-aggressive outrage and amused curiosity.

Holmes held Watson’s gaze a moment before turning to Stamford once more. “Mr Stamford, you’re a witness, correct?”

“Yes.” Stamford admitted with a hushed tone.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Holmes eyes were vibrant. “Everything.”

Stamford looked gravely at Holmes. “Best we go to my office, then.”

* * *

 

Stamford refilled his drink for the third time as he finished telling Holmes the story of that dreadful day. Watson had moved over to the couch, leaving the desk chair to Stamford. Lestrade was sitting on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, still angry at Holmes.

As he listened to Stamford, Holmes had found himself staring out the window. “Your story concords with Lestrade’s,”

“Of course it does.” The words caught on Stamford’s lips as he spoke.

“Why were you so far behind schedule?”

“Good lord, I’m not sure where to start.” Stamford looked at Watson, as if he would jog his memory. “There was always something. It seemed like anything could happen to slow us down.”

There were two quick knocks on the door before Ms Hooper appeared, carefully holding a tea tray that she put down on the desk.

“In the beginning it was small things, lights going out, the camera needing maintenance,” Stamford continued, unperturbed by Ms Hooper’s arrival. “And didn’t a light fixture fall during a take one day?”

“Yeah, yeah, almost took out Anderson.” Lestrade replied, then frowned.

“Did it now?” Holmes asked, suddenly very intrigued as he took the tea Ms Hooper was handing him.

“Yes.” Stamford’s tone was hesitant. “The light shattered on the floor, and it caused enough damage to the set that we had to shut down while they cleaned up the mess, but it was so late in the afternoon that we just stopped for the day.”

“Imagine if it had hit Anderson.” Holmes added gravely, but his eyes were smiling. “What else?”

Stamford looked worried, and it seemed to be getting worse the more he remembered.

“The camera was difficult in the beginning,” Ms Hooper said as she handed Stamford a tea cup. “We had to send it out for maintenance, that put us behind three days.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right.” Stamford said gratefully.

“Then there were Ms Adler’s shoes,” She continued.

“Oh lord, how could I forget,” Stamford laughed.

“We also had a few sets that came in late. And, well…” Ms Hooper bit her lip and looked uncomfortable. “We ran out of film quite often.”

“What do you mean?” Holmes asked.

Ms Hooper’s eyes widened, and she turned to Stamford, looking for what to say. Only they both looked at a loss.

Lestrade took pity on them. “It means we did so many takes that day that we ran out of film.”

Holmes frowned. “Takes?”

“A take.” Lestrade scratched the back of his head. “You don’t always get a scene right the first time, so you film it a few times and use the best take.”

“So, what was causing so many takes?” Holmes looked from one to the other and noted the obvious discomfort his question was causing.

Except Lestrade, who explained with a patient tone. “Anderson.”

Holmes blinked a few times before muttering a small, “I see,” And taking a sip of his tea. “What else slowed down filming?”

“There were days where,” Ms Hooper said, her soft voice filling in the awkward silence. “We’d stop shooting early because Morgan said so.”

“You mean when he throws a fit,” Lestrade clarified.

“Does that happen often?”

“I’d say so, yeah.” Lestrade nodded.

“Did it happen that day?”

Lestrade and Stamford looked at one another.

“Well, not exactly...” Stamford shrugged.

Lestrade uncrossed his arms, “He was aggravated with Anderson, but that was normal. He wasn’t angry, not like the day before. That one was bad, he went after everything and everyone.”

Stamford turned to Watson then, whose postured now looked ready to fight, which piqued Holmes curiosity.

“What happened between you and Morgan that day?” Holmes asked Watson directly.

“Nothing.” Watson replied quickly.

Holmes gave him an unimpressed look.

Watson cleared his throat. “At the production meeting, Morgan and I had a few… words.”

“And what caused you to have… words?”

Watson crossed his arms. “Creative differences.”

“As in?” Holmes insisted.

Watson pursed his lips and looked away.

Stamford started to explain. “Morgan asked-”

“Asked?” Watson cut in, outraged. “He threatened you with a bloody ultimatum!”

“He asked to have Watson fired, which I told him was out of the question,” Stamford said more for Watson’s benefit than Holmes’s.

“I see.” Holmes steepled his hands against his lips. His eyes travelled over from Watson’s feet to his head. “And were you on set that day?”

“No, I was here, working.” Watson crossed his arms. “I didn’t go down until Archie came to get me.”

“Having a doctor around does have its perks,” Holmes commented as he moved to the window.

Watson did a double take on Holmes. “When did-?” He started to ask when Holmes cut him off.

“How long after it happened did you step onto set?”

Watson’s jaw clenched as his mind filled with memories of that day. His eyes went cold as he stared straight ahead and recited. “From what I could tell by the size of the blood pool around Anderson, about ten minutes after it happened. Lestrade had already called the police and cleared a perimeter around the body. We evacuated everyone out of the studio and after confirming there was nothing we could do to save Anderson, I went to help take care of the few people on set that were in shock.”

“Was the nurse there with you?”

“Well, yes but,” Watson explained, “She was one of those in shock.”

Holmes’s steepled his hands under his chin. “What about Morgan?”

“He was also in shock. Ms Hawkins took care of him. Had him settled in the infirmary.”

“I assume the lead actress was also in shock?”

Watson nodded. “Yes, she was taken to her dressing room with her assistant. They stayed there until the police escorted them home.”

“What about the crew? Anything unusual?”

They all looked at one another and shrugged.

“Nothing worth mentioning.” Lestrade replied.

Holmes stared out the window a moment before suddenly declaring, “I need to see the crime scene again.”

“The what?” Ms Hooper asked, eyes wide.

“Why?” Lestrade asked but it was too late. Holmes was already out of the office. “Bloody hell,” Lestrade muttered before chasing after him.

“No need to accompany us, Ms Hooper,” Stamford said quickly, and followed Lestrade, his panic barely hidden.

Ms Hooper turned to Watson with a worried look. “What crime scene?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Watson lied badly. “We shouldn’t be long.” He followed them out before Ms Hooper could ask anything else.

* * *

 

Lestrade pushed open the studio door just in time to see Holmes hop over the planks that sealed off the balcony.

“Holmes, no! You shouldn’t be up there!” Lestrade jogged closer to the staircase.

“What were you filming?” Holmes asked when Stamford walked in. “When it happened?”

“We weren’t filming, it was a rehearsal.” Stamford clarified.

“It doesn’t matter, what was the scene, what was Anderson doing?”

Lestrade looked at a loss. “Don’t look at me, I’m the security guy,” He told Stamford.

Stamford blinked a few times before answering. “They were dancing?”

“Details, I need details!” Holmes shouted from the balcony as Watson pushed through the studio door. “What do they do during the dance?”

Stamford was even more confused. “What, like how they move?”

“I’m not asking for detailed choreography, just a general idea of what’s happening in the scene.”

“Well,” Stamford started uncertainly. “They, they start over there, and then…” Stamford looked from Lestrade to Watson with a blank look. 

Watson crossed his arms. “Do you seriously spend all day on set and have no idea what’s being filmed?”

“It was rehearsal,” Lestrade offered as an excuse.

“I have enough to remember as it is.” Stamford argued.

Watson rolled his eyes and turned to Holmes, who was halfway up the staircase, hunched over, looking intently at each step.

“They start downstage, over there,” Watson pointed stage left.

 Holmes straightened and squinted, eyes travelling across the floor.

“Then they make their way to the stairs, then up to the balcony and kiss at the end. That’s the gist of it.”

Watson stalled when the detective ran up the remaining stairs to the balcony and stood tall to overlook the stage. The blue-sky backdrop was still there, making the overall effect quite powerful visually. It seemed a pity they were filming in black and white. Watson was struck with the image of this man standing on the edge of a rooftop, looking across the city skyline, ready to face whatever dangers lie ahead. It took Watson a moment to realise he was staring and made himself look away.

He took a sidestep and leaned closer to Lestrade. “How did you meet him anyway?”

Lestrade watched Holmes crouch to the floor and inspect the anchoring of the railing.

“Drugs bust.”

Watson blinked and turned to Lestrade. “Come again?”

Lestrade told the story as if they were sitting at a pub listening to the match on the radio. “We were doing a drug bust at an opium den. He was there investigating a smuggling ring.”

Watson thought about it a moment, as Holmes walked along the ramp from one end of the balcony to the other.

“So, it was a cover. He wasn’t using any drugs?”

“Oh no, he was high as a kite when we found him. Took a few hours before he was sober enough to talk and explain his story.”

Watson’s eyes widened, then blinked a few times and turned to Stamford. He was expecting him to say something, but Stamford was staring at Holmes, who looked like he was measuring the height of the ramp with his leg.

Lestrade continued telling the story, not noticing Watson’s agape state. “We caught the guy two days later thanks to him. He helped save hundreds of lives. Listen, I know he isn’t… But in all honesty, I have never regretted working a case with him. I do, however, constantly resist the urge to punch him.”

Watson nodded. He understood what Lestrade meant, but listening to this story and watching the man smell and lick the ramp just brought up more questions.

Lestrade took a step forward and heckled Holmes. “You done messing around up there?”

Holmes shrugged and started walking down the stairs. “How tall was Anderson?”

“Not sure, just under six feet.”

“And you say he was given an opiate before the _take_?”

“That’s right.” Lestrade confirmed.

“Why do you ask?” Watson crossed his arms.

Holmes hopped over the planks at the bottom of the stairs. “Well,” He straightened his jacket and cuffs, “whoever made that drink was either an amateur, as we’re being led to believe, or they knew exactly what they were doing.”

Watson frowned. “What does that have to do with Anderson’s height?”

Holmes seemed pleased Watson was keeping track. “Because Anderson was drugged and sent up a balcony with a railing built high enough to protect his partner, but just below his centre of gravity, making it easy for him to topple over and fall to his death.”

“Brilliant.” The word slipped out of Watson’s mouth before he realised he was speaking. “I mean, you, not Anderson’s death. I mean, your work, not you, I barely know you.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence while Holmes bit back an amused smirk. Lestrade looked discouraged. Stamford was clearly confused.

Holmes broke the silence. “I am going to need access to Anderson’s body.”

Stamford looked offended. “His body?”

“I doubt anyone has given him a proper autopsy if they’ve ruled this an accident. Or any blood analysis. I’ll need to speak to everyone present that day, especially that nurse.”

Stamford stepped in front of him. “No, no, you can’t.”

Holmes frowned. “What, did something happen to her?”

“Nobody can know about this, or that we’re investigating, we’ve had enough scandal around this movie, having the police call this an accident is a blessing. You can’t turn it into a murder.”

Holmes rolled his eyes. “I’m not _turning_ it into murder, it _is_ a murder.”

“You don’t understand; if this movie doesn’t do well, I lose everything. _Everything_. We can’t push back filming any more, we can’t…” Stamford paused, took a deep breath and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Isn’t there another more discreet way?”

“Like an undercover investigation?” Lestrade offered.

Stamford nodded. “Yes, yes!”

Holmes shrugged. “If you insist.”

“He could be on your security team.” Stamford suggested.

“No. I’ll have to work twice as hard to gain everyone’s trust if I’m any type of law enforcement. I should be in a non-threatening role, almost vulnerable.”

“What then? It’s not like we have any openings besides…” Stamford looked stricken before he slowly eyed Holmes. “Say, have you ever-?”

“No.” Holmes looked away.

“You didn’t let me finish-”

“I know what you’re about to say and the answer is no.”

Watson was about to ask when it struck him. “Oh no.”

“What?” Lestrade asked, lost between Watson’s defeated look, Stamford’s glee, and Holmes’s general disinterest.

Holmes sighed. “Stamford was about to propose I replace Anderson.”

“You what?!” Lestrade exclaimed, staring at Stamford.

“I said no.”

Stamford straightened his shoulders. “I think it’s a great idea.”

Watson couldn’t believe his ears. “Seriously? This guy, a lead actor in a musical? Can he even carry a tune?”

“Don’t you see, Watson?” Stamford argued. “We’re killing two birds with one stone. Two very large birds that needed immediate tending to.”

“You seem to be forgetting a very important fact.” Holmes cut in.

Stamford turned to him. “Which is?”

“I said _no_.”

“Holmes.” Lestrade pleaded.

“Anything, anything you want, tell me.” Stamford took out his cheque book. “I will pay you double the fee you normally charge for a case as private detect-”

“ _Consulting_ detective.” Holmes corrected.

Watson scoffed. “Stamford, you can’t possibly hire an amateur as your lead actor?”

“I know, I know, it’s mad, but…” Stamford pointed to Holmes. “Look at the lad. He could just stand there for an hour and a half and this movie will bring in more than the last two combined.”

“The two where you barely covered your expenses?” Watson mumbled to himself, and looked away.

Lestrade stepped closer to Holmes. “Stamford’s right, this is the perfect cover: you’ll have free access to everything and everyone, no one will question what you’re doing since you can always say it’s research for your character or some bullshit like that. You’re the lead, so everyone will do anything to be in your good graces, which means getting them to open up to you easily. Oh, and you can be as bossy as you please, everyone is paid to deal with your moods. They’ll put up with a lot of bullshit, as long as you’re punctual and deliver a good performance on camera.”

Holmes pondered and turned to Stamford. “What does being an actor entail exactly?”

“Acting _._ ” Watson muttered under his breath.

“What, like the job description?” Stamford asked.

Holmes nodded.

Stamford smiled, pleased Holmes was considering it. “A few interviews with the press, photoshoots, a lot of being charming and smiling.”

Holmes looked like the simple thought of it was painful.

“Acting, of course, singing, dancing.”

Holmes’s eyebrows rose. “Dance?”

Watson cut them off, unable to stay silent anymore. “You’re really considering this as a viable option? You don’t even know if he can dance.”

Stamford waved his hand. “Details.”

Watson looked like Stamford had lost his mind. “Details?! Do you not remember how awful Anderson’s dancing was? God rest his soul.”

“There’s dancing?” Holmes repeated softly.

“I’m not opposed to this idea,” Watson argued. “I’m just trying to stop you from throwing away what’s left of your company by casting a tone deaf left footed amateur.”

“And I appreciate it, Watson, I do, but I don’t have many options left.”

“I’ll do it.”

They all turned to Holmes.

“Sorry, what?” Watson asked first.

“Replace Anderson. I’ll do it.”

Watson’s jaw dropped, Lestrade looked like he wanted to burst out laughing, and Stamford threw his arms around Holmes. Holmes looked like he was regretting his decision as he looked down at Stamford.

“Good lad, thank you, thank you! You have no idea, I…” Stamford pulled back, brushed off Holmes’s suit jacket. “Thank you.”

Watson was staring at Holmes. “Can you sing at least?”

Holmes held his stare, and tilted his head slightly. Stamford slapped his hand on Holmes’s back, making them break eye contact.

“Who cares? We can have someone sing off camera while he lip-syncs. We have a more pressing matter now: a contract. I want this in writing, _now_.” Stamford clapped his hands. “Follow me.” He stuffed a script into Holmes’s hands and started to push him towards the exit.

Holmes shuffled through the script in his hands. “So… which character am I playing?”

**END CHAPTER 2**


	3. Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes prepares for his audition with Morgan with the help of the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a joy to write for many reasons. I hope you enjoy this "montage" of Holmes preparing for the audition.  
> Special thanks to Hubblegleeflower for helping me with the movie titles for every character's filmography. And again to the wonderful may-shepard for helping me finally find the title of this movie. (because of course it would be the last thing I figure out WHILE I'm posting the fic LOL)

**Friday Morning – 56 days before the Premiere**

Stamford gently pushed open the screening room door, letting a ray of light spill onto the carpet of the dark room. As the door closed, only the light reflected from the screen illuminated the few rows of seats and the path to the projector booth. Stamford took the few steps to the booth and found Archie fast asleep, leaning against the projector stand, his hair catching in the wind from the projector’s fan.

Stamford was about to wake him when-

“Preposterous!” Holmes shouted at the screen, making Archie jump awake.

“That is not how an industrial conveyer belt works at all.” Holmes continued, “Turn it off!”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.” The boy scrambled to stop the reel, barely noticing Stamford’s presence until he almost walked into him.

“Careful there, boy.”

Archie looked up and blinked owlishly, “Sorry, sir.”

“No trouble, no trouble at all.” Stamford patted him on the shoulder. “I hope everything is all right?”

“Yes, sir.” Archie replied as he started unloading the reel.

“Has Holmes been watching movies non-stop since last night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he complain like this the whole time?”

“Yes, sir.”

Stamford frowned. “About what?”

“Everything, sir. The stories, the acting, the sets, the songs.” Archie looked worried and added in a whisper, “He even said a few things about the actors no one should know.”

Stamford pursed his lips. “Was there _something_ he seemed to enjoy?”

“The dancing, sir.”

“Good work, Archie.” Stamford patted the boy on the head and walked over to where Holmes was sitting. Or rather lounging: he had his legs stretched over the seat in front of him, shoes off, and The Dancing Bachelor spread on his thighs. “How is the ‘research’ going?”

Holmes didn’t look away from the script. “Tedious.”

“Oh, come now, they’re good movies!”

“They’re torture.” Holmes moaned. “As much as I am intrigued by this case, and am somewhat looking forward to some aspects of the undercover work; the more I discover what being an actor entails, the more I despise it.”

“Like all jobs, innit?” Stamford smiled mischievously.

“Please, I know you coaxed me into signing that contract,” Holmes admitted. “Nevertheless, I’ve already made my peace with the situation.”

“Glad to hear it.” Stamford patted him on the shoulder. “Because we have a production meeting this afternoon. I’ll have a car ready to take you to your hotel to change. I’m going to introduce you to the crew and they’re going to groom you to audition for Morgan. Remember you need to charm them, they’re going to be the support to your success, which means the success of this movie.”

Holmes let his head fall back and moaned. “This case better turn out to be more than a 7...”

“And you still need to come up with your pseudonym.” Stamford added, ignoring Holmes. “Have you watched any Morgan films?”

“Archie?” Holmes said louder, “Have I watched any Morgan films?”

“Yes sir. A Spider’s Web, and No Charge.”

“They were… tolerable.” Holmes commented with flat tone.

“Good,” Stamford said with forced cheer, “Use it with Morgan. He loves talking about his work, and we need him to like you enough to accept working with you. Tomorrow we’ll get started on rehearsing the songs and choreography. Do you know how to read music?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll have Ms Hooper bring you a copy of the sheet music, so you have a look before rehearsal tomorrow.”

Holmes hummed, but didn’t look up.

Stamford cleared his throat. “Right, I’ll leave you to it then, Mr Holmes.”

“Mr Stamford.”

Holmes listened to the sound of Stamford’s retreating footsteps and the gush of air as the door opened and closed. He flipped the script close, steepled his hands under his chin, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he opened his eyes, he lazily read the title page of the script, and raised an eyebrow.

“Archie?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Have I seen any Watson movies?”

“Yes sir. A Candle for the Table.”

Holmes’s eyebrows rose a bit at that. It was one of the few he had managed to watch all the way to the end.

“Would you like to see some more, sir?”

“Alright.”

Holmes listened to the boy move a few tin cases before the film reels were loaded into the projector. Holmes leaned back in his chair, as music filled the room and the title appeared on the screen: A Chance Meeting.

A small smile curved his lips as he sank deeper into his seat.

* * *

 

**Friday afternoon - Production Meeting**

“Stamford, listen, we’ve all been affected by Anderson’s death, but _this_ , I mean… have you gone mad?”

“Ms Hawkins,” Ms Hooper admonished, eyes wide.

“I’m not going to just sit here and not say anything. We’re all thinking it.” Ms Hawkins waved her hand around the table as she leaned back in her chair.

Ms Hawkins was sitting at the other end of the table, facing Stamford. Ms Hooper was on Stamford’s right, eyes still wide from Ms Hawkins’s insubordination. Watson was on Stamford’s left, his arms crossed, jaw clenched as he stared at a scratch on the table between his script and teacup. Dimmock was on Watson’s left, and looked nervous. Ms Riley, sitting legs crossed on Ms Hawkins’s left, grumbled about having to refit all of Anderson’s costumes. Wiggins, facing Ms Riley, looked like he wanted to burst out laughing.

“I’m not saying the kid is a drag,” Ms Hawkins continued, “but Morgan is going to shit bricks when you try to impose a lead actor on him.”

“Not imposed, we aren’t imposing.” Stamford corrected, ignoring Wiggins as he barked a laugh and attempted to disguise it as a sneeze.

Ms Hawkins didn’t stop. “Anderson was a hard enough sale, but at least we knew what we were getting into, but this…”

“And that is precisely why we are having this meeting, because I…” Stamford took a deep breath. “I need your help. I-I have no options left. We lost Anderson, I’m stuck in a clause with Morgan that prevents me from imposing a new lead actor, and he refuses to work with anyone I can afford.” Stamford looked at his feet. He wasn’t expecting to find it so hard to say this without being able to tell them they were fighting for their own jobs. “I’m not… I’m not trying to manipulate you into saying yes out of pity, even though I admit I’m not far from being desperate enough to beg.” He looked around the table. “What I’m asking all of you is to help prep him to audition for Morgan. I know this all sounds mad, but I really believe in this kid. He’s a big risk, and one I’m willing to take. But I can’t do it without your help. Only by working together do we have a chance to pull this off.”

The room was silent as they all looked at one another. Most of the people around the table seemed touched by Stamford’s words, except Dimmock, who still looked worried, and Ms Hawkins, who still looked like she thought Stamford had lost it. Watson, the only other person besides Ms Hooper who knew the real reason behind Holmes’s hire, mostly agreed with Ms Hawkins, but had to admit Stamford had given a good motivational speech.

“So, what do you say?”

Ms Hawkins leaned back and crossed her arms. “What’s your plan?”

“Audition for Morgan on Monday evening. We teach him as many songs he can manage by then and hope for the best.”

There was a general grumble around the table.

“This means we’re losing our weekend.” Dimmock moaned.

“You just got a week off.” Ms Riley replied.

“Look, he’s gonna have to learn them all anyway.” Wiggins argued with Dimmock. “Might as well teach him as much as we can now to get a head start.”

“Yes, precisely.” Stamford smiled to Wiggins before turning to the rest of the table. “I know I’m asking a lot, but we have to reshoot the entire movie, we can’t afford to lose any more filming days.”

“And let’s say we pull this off, say we manage to teach him, oh I don’t know, three songs in three days, and Morgan says yes.” Ms Hawkins crossed her arms. “What about Ms Adler?”

There was a murmur around the table; everyone knew Ms Adler had a special veto clause in her contract about her co-stars.

Stamford looked like he had been waiting for that question. “Meet him, then see if you still need to ask me that question.”

Ms Hawkins raised an eyebrow. She turned Ms Hooper, who looked embarrassed but gave her a small nod. Ms Hawkins looked around the table; no one seemed to have any objections, besides Watson, but he wasn’t voicing them.

“Fine. We’re in.”

Stamford clapped his hands and almost jumped out of his chair when Ms Hawkins continued.

“But just so we’re clear; I’m doing this for the team.”

Stamford nodded. “And we’re all grateful to have you in it.”

Ms Hawkins rolled her eyes. “Quit your ass kissing, let’s meet the kid.”

Stamford turned to Ms Hooper, who nodded and stepped out of the conference room. She returned a few minutes later with Holmes and a blush on her face. He had changed into a black suit with a purple shirt, the dark colour contrasting beautifully with his pale complexion. His hair, rather than being combed back, was now in curls falling around his face, accentuating his cheekbones.

“Everyone, meet Sigerson Holmes, our new lead.”

Holmes smiled nervously. “Good afternoon everyone.” He spoke with an American accent and clasped his hands. “Pleased to meet you all. I, um, well, the circumstances that led to me standing here are really, very terrible, so I understand if this is odd for any of you. I’m not trying to replace Mr Anderson, God rest his soul. I’m here to honour him, his legacy. Hopefully together, even with a tight schedule, we can make a movie in memory of him.”

Watson blinked, only now processing Holmes’s undercover persona. He was much more… charming. Warm. Different. He was so far from the arrogant man he had met last night. The American accent seemed odd at first, a bit fake, but he was so charming that you sort of forgot about it. In fact, if Watson hadn’t met him before, he never would have guessed this was a role. It made Watson rather curious to see how Holmes’s singing and dancing were going to be.

Stamford looked nervous as he watched the reactions around the table. Ms Hawkins contemplated Holmes from head to toe, slowly twirling her hair around her finger. Ms Riley looked predatory. Wiggins and Dimmock shrugged, they knew that no matter how charming he was, rehearsal would reveal what they were really dealing with.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr Holmes. Glad to have you part of the team.” Ms Hawkins said with an honest smile. “Now back to business. Stamford, you said we have three days to get ready to audition for Morgan, but when is the studio available?”

“The police said we should get it on Monday,” Stamford replied.

“I spoke to Moran and he said he can get the set cleared and the opening scene installed in a week,” Ms Hooper continued.

Ms Hawkins nodded and turned to Holmes. “We have ten days to get you ready to shoot. Let’s figure out a rehearsal schedule and what we should prepare for the audition.”

* * *

 

**Saturday morning - 55 days before the Premiere**

**Dance Rehearsal**

“Because you insisted that we start with dance rehearsal, I’m going to assume you understand that dancing is the most important part of the performance,” Wiggins monologued as he paced along the mirrored wall of the rehearsal studio. “Dance lets you emote, communicate emotion in a way words can only scratch the surface.”

Holmes rolled his eyes.

“Any dance background?”

“Bit of Waltz, nothing fancy.”

“Well, at least you’ve got the gait.” Wiggins nodded to Dimmock who started playing something for them to warm up to. “Let’s start with a few basic moves, see what I’ve got to work with.”

* * *

 

**Singing Rehearsal**

“I thought we’d start with a few scales, just so I can get an idea of your vocal range,” Dimmock explained as he spread the music along the piano’s sheet stand. “Stamford mentioned you can read music, do you play any instruments?”

“Yes, I play the violin.”

Dimmock looked surprised. “Oh. Great.”

“Don’t tell Stamford, I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.” Holmes added with a wink.

Dimmock chuckled, stretched his arms and played a C chord. “I promise.”

* * *

 

**Dance Rehearsal**

“Ready? And: five, six, seven, eight.”

Holmes just stood there, and watched Wiggins perform the routine. With a flourish, Wiggins finished the choreography, breathing a bit harder than before. He turned to Holmes with a smile.

“Does it look like something you can do?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. Do you want me to do it again and then you jump in?”

“Sure.”

“Do you want me to go slower?”

“No need.”

Wiggins pursed his lips, mocking an impressed look. “Alright then.”

* * *

 

**Singing Rehearsal**

“ _Just another daaayyyyy-_ ” Holmes sang.

“Hold that for 4 bars” Dimmock said quickly.

“- _Aaayyy._ ” Holmes held the note until Dimmock nodded, continuing the piano into the chorus.

“Yes, perfect!” Dimmock smiled and stopped playing. “Then you get to catch your breath while the town sings the chorus, then the next verse is Jane and Edward’s harmonising.”

* * *

 

**Dance rehearsal**

Holmes watched Wiggins dance the routine for the second time. Only now, he was counting and calling out the movements. Holmes fidgeted a bit, his small movements timed with Wiggins’s.

“Right,” Wiggins said with a breathy smile and pointed to Holmes. “Time for you to dance. We’ll do a first run without the music. Ready?” Wiggins waited for Holmes’ nod. “Five, six, seven, eight.”

Wiggins had spent many long hours in rehearsal with Anderson. The man could learn a song in an hour, could remember his lines in two read-throughs and remember them for years (he bragged about it constantly). But when it came to choreography, it was a disaster. It took weeks to get him to learn the routines, and even longer to make him look good doing them.

Now here was Holmes, who was following him like he already knew the choreography, after having watched him dance it twice.

* * *

 

**Singing rehearsal**

“Okay, well, you’ve got that one in…” Dimmock looked at the clock on the wall and was taken aback. “An hour. You learned it in an hour. Okay. Well. Uh, do you want to try the date song?”

“Date song?”

Dimmock chuckled. “Sorry, I meant ‘It’s All Fine’. Date song is the nickname we gave the song until Watson figured out the title.”

“And it’s nicknamed the date song because…?”

“They sing it during the date.” Dimmock frowned. “Didn’t you read the script?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Sorry, just a bit nervous.” Holmes said with a tight smile.

* * *

 

**Dance rehearsal**

Wiggins watched Holmes’s reflection in the mirror as he danced along with him. They got to the end, and Holmes only fumbled twice on his first try.

Wiggins’s eyes met Dimmock’s in the mirror, stunned by Holmes’s first try. Then they both turned to him.

Wiggins just stared at him, hands on his hips he caught his breath. “Where the hell did you come from?”

Holmes chuckled. “You’re not so bad yourself.” And winked and took a drink of water.

Wiggins laughed and turned to the mirror. “Come on then, from the top. Five, six, seven, eight.”

* * *

 

**Singing rehearsal**

“ _All the wayyyyy_.”

“You came in a little late at the end.”

“No I didn’t.”

* * *

 

**Saturday afternoon**

**Acting rehearsal**

“Alright, got your script with you?” Ms Hawkins said with a warm smile.

Holmes raised the pile of paper in his hand and forced a smile. He had not been looking forward to this part of the case. They were sitting face to face at the table in the rehearsal studio.

“Good, so, what can you tell me about your Edward?” she asked, elbow on the table as she leaned her head on her hand, eager for his response.

Holmes blinked a few times. “I don’t understand.”

Ms Hawkins looked at him with tight lips. “Did you not read the script?”

“Of course I did, and so have you, since you’ve been filming it for weeks now. Which is why I don’t understand why you’re asking.”

Ms Hawkins burst out laughing, slapping her leg a few times before she noticed Holmes staring at her with a curious look. Her laughing died down and transformed into a worried look that was trying to pass for neutral.

“I-I… I want to see if you know your character.”

“Yes, I’m playing Edward.”

Ms Hawkins blinked rapidly and bit her lip. “So… what can you tell me about Edward?”

“He’s fictional.”

Ms Hawkins’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “That’s not...I’m asking you to describe Edward.”

“Why?”

“Why? B-because…” She paused, and after a moment smiled at Holmes. “Could you, um, give me a minute? Just, um, do some voice exercises or something, I’ll be right back.” Ms Hawkins stepped out.

She quickly made her way up to Stamford’s office. She smiled at Ms Hooper but did not stop, just knocked twice, and opened the door. Stamford was sitting at his desk when Ms Hawkins walked in. Watson was sitting on the couch. He raised his eyes over the paper when she stepped in, but stayed hidden behind it.

“Shouldn’t you be rehearsing with Holmes?”

“Oh good, we’re already on topic.” Ms Hawkins said with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

Watson lowered the paper.

“Is everything alright Ms Hawkins?” Stamford asked.

“When you said he was an amateur, you didn’t mention that I had to _teach to him how to act_.” Ms Hawkins said through her teeth, eyes a bit wilder than usual.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I asked him to tell me about his character: he said _fictional_.”

Watson stifled a laugh.

“Where did you even find this guy?” Ms Hawkins pursued.

Stamford eyed Watson. “A friend of a friend.”

Ms Hawkins scoffed. “Which _friend_?”

“Look, he may be a little inexperienced,” Stamford cooed, “But I know you can make it work.”

Ms Hawkins glared at him. “You’re going to owe me for this.”

Stamford nodded, “If we manage to get this movie into theatres, I will owe you much, much more.”

Ms Hawkins smiled tightly and left. She made her way back to the rehearsal room slowly, trying to figure out how she was going to teach this amateur how to be a lead actor, while rehearsing an entire movie. As she arrived at the door, she took a few deep breaths before she stepped in. She found Holmes in front of the mirror practicing the opening song dance.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” she said with a smile and close the door quietly behind her.

Holmes stopped dancing and walked back to the table. “No trouble at all.”

Ms Hawkins sat down, closed the script and looked at Holmes. “We’re going to start from the beginning.”

Holmes opened his mouth to speak.

“No. You just listen.”

He closed his mouth.

Ms Hawkins took a deep breath. “The job of an actor is to portray a character in a way that makes him believable for the audience. This helps them dive into the story for the duration of the movie.”

Holmes blinked a few times. “Why are you-”

“I said just listen.”

Holmes frowned and looked like he was trying not to pout.

“Right, now, to be able to do this, you need to know Edward as if he were a real man. How he talks, how he walks, his likes, his dislikes, without falling into caricature.” She flipped opened the script to the scene where the audience meets Edward for the first time. “Now, based on what you’ve read in the script, tell me about Edward.”

“I still don’t-”

Ms Hawkins lost her patience. “Will you just do it!”

Holmes, startled, started rattling off. “Edward Jones, 27 years old, mother died when he was eleven, never met his father. Has been working on farms since he was thirteen. Developed an ability for pickpocketing, which eventually led him to jail. The movie takes place a few weeks after he was released early for good behaviour, when he is looking to start fresh. His mate from prison told him about this town.” Holmes cursed himself for using mate rather than buddy and hoped Ms Hawkins wouldn’t notice.

She stared at Holmes. “You got all that from the script?”

Holmes shrugged. “I maybe embellished a bit.”

“Great, that’s great, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do, embellish. Embellish all you want, fill in the blanks. Understand what motivates him, why he says his lines, what pushes him forward in the story.”

Holmes looked lost in thought, thinking over what Ms Hawkins was trying to make him understand, until he frowned and looked down at the script. “In that case, there are a few things in here that don’t make sense.”

Ms Hawkins chuckled. “Yes, well, we all try to do our best with what we’re given.”

“But… isn’t the purpose to make a good movie?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Then shouldn’t we change it?”

Ms Hawkins bit her lip and looked uncomfortable. “Look, right now, we need to focus on your acting. You can bring up your issues with the script to Stamford, and he’ll speak to Watson.” Before Holmes could add anything, Ms Hawkins stood. “Get up, we’re going to do a few movement exercises.”

“Movement exercises?” Holmes asked as he joined Ms Hawkins in the centre of the studio, facing the mirror.

“We’re going to work on Edward’s posture; how he moves, how he walks. That should lead us to how he talks.”

“Um, okay,” Holmes said with what looked like a positive smile, but it just made him look nervous.

He had been expecting this rehearsal to be boring, since he had already memorised his lines. Holmes had no idea what these exercises were going to be or how they could possibly help him with is performance as Edward.

“Let’s just start with a few breathing exercises to get you grounded, in and out, slowly, yes, just like that. Now, let’s start with his posture.”

Holmes faced himself in the mirror, back straight, arms at his side.

“Uh, okay, maybe just,” Ms Hawkins placed her hands on his shoulders. “Relax, let your shoulders drop, yes, like this,” She slid her hands down his arms and gently twisted him from side to side, making his arms wave around. “Relax, good, okay. Just keep your body loose, neutral. Now walk around, and slowly, start thinking of Edward, of who he is, try to show that in your body. Take your time, walk around, and slowly, find his rhythm, immerse yourself in Edward.”

Holmes wanted to scream. This was completely ridiculous. Is this really what actors go through? Is this what they need to do to be able to act like a person realistically? Is it that difficult for people to reproduce basic emotions while reciting lines? Or is it a way for them to drop their personal mannerisms to be able to find their characters?

“What was that?”

Ms Hawkins voice cut through Holmes’s train of thought. He blinked and turned to her with wide eyes. “What was what?”

“What you did there,” She waved to his feet.

Holmes realised he had been following her instructions unconsciously. “Not sure, I just…” He focused on what his body had been doing and repeated the movement. He swayed from side to side at each step, his feet kicking out, almost duck like.

“That, yes, that. It’s interesting. But tone it down. Any more and I’m going to hand you a clown costume. Yes, better, just keep it subtle. Keep walking around, and say your lines.”

“Which ones?”

“Anything, just talk.”

“ _Good afternoon ma’am, I’ll take a_ -”

“Stop.” Ms Hawkins raised her hand. “Stop, stop, stop.”

Holmes stopped his Edward walk and slowly turned to Ms Hawkins. He had been nervous about this, his Edward American accent. He already felt like his own sounded a bit off, and felt like he should change it a bit when he played Edward.

“What was that?” She asked.

“… Did I say the wrong line?”

“No, I mean, why are you shouting?”

Holmes felt himself relax, relieved his dialect wasn’t the issue. “I wasn’t shouting, I was projecting.”

“This isn’t theatre, you’re not on a stage, playing for a room full of people. The only person you need to act for is the camera. That’s where your audience is. Blink and everyone sees. Whisper and everyone will hear. No shouting, no contorting your face. Now try again.”

Holmes nodded and started walking around again. Once he felt he had found Edward’s walk once more, he spoke.

“ _Good afternoon ma’am_ -”

“Too loud.”

“ _Good afternoon ma’am, I’ll take a_ -”

Ms Hawkins was squinting. “Why are you enunciating so much?”

“So people will understand me?” Holmes replied quickly, but he knew that wasn’t it at all.

“But that’s not how people talk.” Ms Hawkins argued.

Holmes cleared his throat. She had a point.

“Again. More relaxed.”

“ _Good afternoon ma’aaaam_ -”

“Woah, too relaxed.”

“For God’s sake.” Holmes fought the urge to stomp out of the room and leave without looking back. He pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed slowly. He was expecting Ms Hawkins to say something, but when he looked up, she was watching him patiently.

Holmes sighed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to… it’s just…”

“It’s fine.” She smiled. “You have a lot of pressure on your shoulders. Take your time.”

Holmes turned away and ended up facing himself in the mirror. Now that he was neck deep in his undercover persona, and discovering the full extent of the work that would be required for this movie to be a success, all without getting caught, Holmes wasn’t sure if he was acting nervous anymore. Because like it or not, he had a better chance at saving Stamford’s company if the movie was good, and a large part of that depended on his performance in the movie. 

“Do you want a take a quick break?” Ms Hawkins offered. “I could get us some coffee?”

Holmes straightened his spine, opened his mouth wide to stretch his jaw muscles, and nodded to himself in the mirror. “No I’m fine,” He spun to face Ms Hawkins. “Let’s keep going.”

“Good. Want to switch up the lines?”

“Alright.” Holmes took a deep breath and started walking around again. “ _Jane, I can’t right a wrong-_ ”

“Too caricature.”

“ _I can’t right a wrong if you don’t tell me what I’ve done_.”

“Too theatre.”

“ _I never meant to lie to you_.”

“Not enough.”

 “ _If you just give me a chance_.”

“ _If yaou juss give me ah chaansss.”_ Ms Hawkins imitated mockingly, “Can’t you hear yourself?”

“ _I swear I can fix things_.”

“ _I seware I kian fixsss thangs_.”

“ _Please give me another chance_.”

“Stop, stop.” She rubbed her forehead. “Okay, I think that’s enough of that for today. Let’s sit down and focus on your character. We’ll work on your physicality tomorrow, when I find someone to fill in for Ms Adler. But tonight, I want you to sit in front of the mirror and say your lines. What you see in the mirror is what the audience will see. Work on your facial expressions. I want you to understand how a single muscle movement can change what you’re emoting. You’re trying to be real, not paraphrase reality like theatre.” Ms Hawkins raised her hand when Holmes opened his mouth to protest. “Spare me the monologue on theatre, just make sure you practice tonight.”

* * *

 

**Saturday evening**

After acting rehearsal, Holmes asked if he could stay in the studio to practice on his own. Stamford was happy to oblige.

Holmes practiced the song and dance until nine, when the building was being locked down for the night. He went back to his hotel and paced his room, trying to get comfortable with Edward. He played with his speaking rhythm, his voice. He watched himself in the mirror and went through the entire script three times, slowly finding Edwards voice, his diction, his drawls.

By half past midnight, his script was filled with notes in the margin; notes for himself, but some were about the script, the story, the character motivations, and in some cases suggestions.

Eventually the margins weren’t enough. Holmes huffed and looked around for a solution, when he spotted it. He wrote ‘Edward’ on a piece of paper and pinned it to the wall in front of his bed, a few feet to the left of the other piece of paper on the wall, the one with Stamford Productions written on it. By two in the morning, Holmes was asleep atop the bedspread, and the wall below Edward’s name was full.

* * *

 

**Sunday morning – Audition prep day 2 - 54 days before the Premiere**

**Dance Rehearsal**

“Step, step, sidestep, sidestep, kick ball change, kick ball change, double spin, and pose. Got that? Together then: Five, six, seven, eight.”

* * *

 

**Singing Rehearsal**

“Try and hold that note a bit longer. And be careful with your diction on your Ts.”

“No, that’s normal, it’s how Edward sings.”

“Oh. Okay.”

* * *

 

**Dance Rehearsal**

“Alright.” Wiggins was in a good mood. “Let’s do the first meeting one last time, then we’ll move on to the date.”

“About that,” Holmes smiled, “I don’t understand why he asks her out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he just bumped into her by accident. Why would he ask her out?”

“She’s pretty.”

“That’s it?”

“He wants to make it up to her for making her drop what she was holding.”

“But it was an accident.”

“I’m just the choreographer. If you have an issue with the story, talk to Stamford.”

“He’ll change it?”

“Of course not.” Wiggins chuckled, “Stamford will talk to Watson.”

“And Watson will change it?”

Wiggins snorted. He knew the answer was no, but he wasn’t going to be the one to break it to Holmes. “Talk to Stamford. How many pirouettes you can do in a row?”

* * *

 

**Singing Rehearsal**

Dimmock looked uncomfortable. “I agree the lyrics are a bit on the nose, but you’d have to talk to Stamford for any changes.”

“Fine.”

“From the top, then?”

“Can I borrow your script?”

* * *

 

During lunch break, Holmes went through his notes from the night before and transcribed some of them into the script he borrowed from Dimmock.

It was late when he finished, and ran up to Stamford’s office to give it Watson, only to find he wasn’t there. He left the annotated script with Ms Hooper and rushed downstairs.

* * *

 

**Sunday afternoon**

**Acting rehearsal**

“Alright, Ms Riley was kind enough to volunteer to read Jane.” Ms Hawkins said as she opened her script.

Ms Riley smiled widely and batted her eyelashes at Holmes. “It’s my pleasure.”

Holmes smiled back as he read Ms Riley’s desperation in her drawn-on stockings and repurposed skirt.

“We’ll work on the first meeting scene,” Ms Hawkins continued, “And then on your acting while you sing in the last hour.”

Holmes and Ms Riley got into place in the middle of the room.

“Start from ‘Good day to you, sir.’” Ms Hawkins pointed at the lines on the floor. “That’s the door out of the bakery. You just bought a loaf of bread and are backing out of the shop. When you turn around, you almost hit Jane, and as she’s trying to evade you, she almost falls, but you catch her just in time. Got it?” She waited for them to nod. “And, action.”

Holmes pretended to walk out of the bakery with a loaf of bread. “ _Good day to you, sir_.”

“ _Careful now_.” Ms Riley said with a forced southern accent.

Holmes grimaced and dropped his imaginary loaf of bread. “Don’t do that.”

Ms Riley stared at Holmes with a puzzled look. “Don’t do what?”

“The accent.”

She looked affronted. “I’m just doing what Ms Adler does.”

“She probably doesn’t sound like a cat getting murdered,” Holmes muttered.

Ms Riley gasped. “I beg your pardon?”

“Hey!” Ms Hawkins cut in. “Holmes, I give directions, not you.”

“Pardon me, Ms Hawkins.”

“That’s all right.” She smiled and turned to Ms Riley. “Ms Riley?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t do the accent.”

Ms Riley stared at Ms Hawkins wide eyed. “Fine.” She turned to Holmes, her eyes shooting bullets at him.

“Oh and Holmes?” Ms Hawkins added.

He looked at her nervously.

“Glad to see your homework paid off.”

He smiled at her warmly. “Thank you, Ms Hawkins.” Holmes had found how to make a proper American accent for Edward that was different from his Actor Persona, and how to switch from one to the other without losing both.

“Ready?” She waited until they both nodded. “And, action.”

The imaginary loaf of bread reappeared in Holmes’s arms. “ _Good day to you, sir_.”

“ _Careful now_.” Ms Riley replied, without an accent.

Holmes turned when he heard the words and bumped into her, exaggerating the movement a bit. Ms Riley started shrieking, hands raised to her face.

Holmes dropped character. “Did I hurt you? Are you alright?”

“Huh, what?” Ms Riley looked up. “I’m fine.”

Holmes rolled his eyes.

Ms Hawkins sighed. “You’re overdoing it a bit, dear.”

“Sorry.”

Ms Hawkins smiled tightly. “Just go whenever you’re ready.”

“ _Good day to you too, sir_.”

“ _Careful now_.”

Holmes turned around, dropping his imaginary loaf of bread and making Ms Riley drop her imaginary supplies. Holmes caught her in his arms before she fell. They ended up in a sort of dipped pose.

“S _orry Miss, wasn’t watchin’ where I was going there_.” Holmes said softly, looking Ms Riley in the eyes.

That’s when the door burst open and in walked Watson, followed by Stamford and Ms Hooper. Watson ignored Ms Hawkins polite protest for the intrusion, and Stamford’s feeble excuses. Holmes let Ms Riley go at their arrival, making her almost fall to the floor. Whatever intention she had of telling off Holmes evaporated when she saw Watson and moved away from Holmes quickly.

“What’s this?” Watson asked Holmes, raising the annotated script in his hand.

“Notes,” Holmes replied calmly.

Ms Hawkins eyes widened. “You gave Watson notes directly?” She turned to Stamford. “I swear I told him to talk to you.”

Holmes raised his chin. “Given the immediate and long-term time constraints, I figured this was the most efficient way to proceed.”

“Why?” Watson asked, ignoring how it felt odd to be arguing with Holmes in his American Accent.

“We’re trying to make a good movie, are we not?”

Watson tilted his head to the side. “That’s right.”

“Well, the story is boring, predictable, and the characters barely have any substance.”

The room went silent. Stamford, Ms Hooper and Ms Hawkins were worried they were about to witness a murder.

“Gentlemen,” Stamford started.

“Yesterday,” Watson took a step closer to Holmes. “Yesterday you described Edward as _fictional_ , and today you’re giving me notes about his emotional arc?”

Holmes looked down at him. “That just goes to show you how problematic the script is.”

Holmes waited for the inevitable punch, as did everyone else in the room.

He did not expect a smirk and a loud sniff. “Problematic script, huh?”

“The story’s just not realistic.” Holmes shrugged.

Watson scoffed. “It’s a musical, it’s not meant to be realistic. It’s not like people actually use a song and dance routine to declare their love in real life.”

“Maybe not, but the emotions behind those songs are real,” Holmes continued. “Honestly, I’m surprised I have to explain this to you.”

Watson shook his head and liked his lips. “I _know_ the emotions are real, it’s a bloody love story-”

Holmes cut Watson off with a scoff and pointed to the script. “Edward and Jane aren’t in love.”

“And why not?”

“Because they aren’t miserable.”

Watson looked at the ceiling a moment. “What the hell are you on about?”

“Love makes people miserable. Drives to self-harm, or to hurt those they love. I’ve solv… read about enough murders in the papers that were motivated by love to know that-”

“Murder?” Watson stared at Holmes with wide eyes before turning to Stamford. “Murder?” He turned back to Holmes. “You’re saying love makes people miserable and leads to _murder_?”

Holmes was suddenly aware of the delicate line he was threading with this line of discussion. “I admit those are the worst-case scenarios,” He fibbed. “But, think about it, who changes their entire life plan for someone they’ve just met?”

“Edward is in the middle of putting a new life together for himself, trying to move to something better.”

Holmes rolled his eyes. “Well that doesn’t come across at all. It looks like he’s doing it for love.”

“Well, that too.”

“Who does that?” Holmes looked around the room. “Who changes everything about themselves and their life for love?”

Watson raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never done something crazy for love?”

“Of course not.” Holmes smoothed his suit. “My methods are rational, I consider all-”

Watson’s eyes widened, “Oh.”

Holmes looked at Watson, “What?”

Watson stared. “You’ve never been in love.”

Holmes raised his chin. “I fail to see the relevance.”

Watson chuckled. “Obviously, since you’ve never been in love.”

“My personal experience doesn’t prevent me from being able to objectively understand-”

"You understand nothing." Watson said through his teeth and took a step back. “You bloody idiot.” He whispered and walked out, his cane hitting the floor much harder than usual.

Holmes kept his eyes on the door a moment before he turned away, looking deep in thought. He didn’t care that everyone was watching him.

“How about we take five?” Ms Hawkins offered.

Holmes shook his head. “No need.” He paced a few times and scratched the back of his neck.

“You sure?”

Holmes straightened his spine and smiled. “Yes, of course.” But he could tell she wasn’t buying it. It didn’t matter, they had a schedule to keep. Holmes put it aside in his mind to come back to it later.

Ms Hooper looked at the rehearsal studio door. “Would you mind if we stayed to watch?” She knew, if Watson had retreated to the office, it was best to give him some time alone.

Ms Hawkins nodded. “Of course.” And waved at the chairs along the wall before turning back to Holmes and Ms Riley. “Now, where were we?” Ms Hawkins looked down at the open script in front of her. “Yes, first meeting.” She sat and smiled. “When you’re ready.”

Holmes and Ms Riley took a breath and started.

“ _Good day to you too, sir_.”

“ _Careful now_.”

Like before, Holmes turned, Ms Riley dropped her imaginary supplies, and Holmes dropped the imaginary bread and caught her in his arms before she fell, ending in a romantic dip.

“S _orry Miss, didn’t watch where I was going_.”

“ _Quite all right.”_

Holmes straightened them both and held her in embrace until she had her footing.

“ _Here you are Miss. Sorry again for bumping into you like that_.”

There was an awkward pause and Ms Riley just stared at Holmes blankly until he continued.

 _“Say, would you like to go out for coffee_ \- I’m sorry this isn’t working.” Holmes stepped away and looked at Ms Hawkins with his hands on his hips.

“Do you need a break?” Ms Hawkins asked, concerned.

“No, I mean, he bumps into her and just… asks her out? Like that?” He shrugged.

“Well, no, not just like that.” She looked at Holmes uncomfortably. “There’s supposed to be a spark.”

Holmes stared blankly.

“You know, a spark.”

Holmes blinked.

“ _The_ spark.”

“You’re going to need to be more specific.” Holmes said patiently.

Ms Hawkins pursed her lips at the irony. She turned to Ms Hooper and Stamford and was met with a shrug. She sighed and leaned on the table as she explained.

“It’s when you meet a woman, and you just feel that click, that… connection with her.” Ms Hawkins offered, “It’s hard to explain. Your body is always aware of her, always thinking about her, gravitating towards one another. Almost as if the universe was conspiring to make you meet. There’s just something there, so intense that others notice, while you forget anyone else is in the room. Chemistry is the best word for it, at least that’s the term we like to use. It’s what makes the best couples on camera. Look at Fred and Ginger, they’re electric together. That’s why they get cast so often, it costs less in screentests, and you’re sure it’ll work.”

“Fred and Ginger?”

“Top Hat?”

Holmes nodded then frowned, “Well then, shouldn’t I be rehearsing with Ms Adler?”

“You gotta crawl before you walk, kid,” Ms Hawkins chuckled, “because Ms Adler is going to dance circles around you.”

“That may be,” Holmes replied, “but shouldn’t I at least practice with someone with whom I have chemistry, as little as that may be?”

Ms Hawkins froze, eyes wide.

“Excuse me?” Ms Riley cut in, insulted.

“Don’t take it personally.” Holmes replied offhandedly.

“How?” Ms Riley exclaimed.

Ms Hawkins stood. “Mr Holmes, Ms Riley was kind enough to-”

“She should be working on tailoring my costumes rather than attempting to jump start an acting career that will go as far as she can-”

“Mr Holmes!” Stamford shouted, his face red.

“I’ll tell you what you can do with your suits.” Ms Riley mumbled as she made her way to the table, dropped her script, grabbed her purse and left, the studio door slamming loudly behind her.

Stamford, Ms Hooper and Ms Hawkins all turned to Holmes with different level of shock.

“Holmes.” Stamford’s soft tone barely held back his anger.

“Yes.”

“A word.”

Holmes followed Stamford out to the corridor.

“Do you understand what happened in there?”

“I seemed to have offended Ms Riley.”

“You certainly did.”

“It’s not her fault I’m not attracted to her.”

“That may be true, but there are better ways to broach the subject.”

“I saved you some time then.”

Stamford chuckled despite himself.

“Should I go apologize to her?”

“Maybe not right now. But please be careful with what you say, your persona is working well. Try to wait until after the premiere to make enemies, all right?”

“I’ll do my best.”

They stepped back inside and found Ms Hooper and Ms Hawkins at the table talking animatedly. They turned when Stamford and Holmes came in.

“We have a replacement for Ms Riley.”

“Already?”

Ms Hawkins turned to Ms Hooper who gave a shy wave.

“But-” Stamford started to say when Ms Hooper cut him off.

“I know, sir, but this is only for today and tomorrow afternoon. After that, Ms Adler will be there to rehearse, right?”

“Unless Mr Holmes has something to say about our choice of replacement?” Ms Hawkins added with a challenging look.

Holmes smiled at Ms Hooper. “None at all.”

“But …” Stamford looked defeated.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” Ms Hooper continued. “I swear this will not affect my work.”

“Do you mind talking going over Ms Hooper’s new schedule after rehearsal?” Ms Hawkins asked apologetically.

Ms Hooper squeaked an apology and made her way next to Holmes, smiling at him nervously.

Holmes turned to her and placed his hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes. “Thank you for volunteering.”

Her cheeks flamed red almost instantly. “No trouble at all.”

As they gazed at each other, they did not notice Ms Hawkins turning to Stamford, who was now sitting next to her at the table.

“Seems he was right,” she whispered, nodding towards the couple.

Stamford winked. “Just don’t tell him, all right?”

Ms Hawkins winked back and turned to the couple. “First meeting please.”

They watched Ms Hooper and Holmes fumble and it looked seamless, even on their first try. As soon as Ms Hooper was in his arms and their eyes met, Holmes breathed a faint, “ _Oh_.” The entire mood of the scene shifted. The following lines, along with the way their bodies danced around one another, now made perfect sense.

They finished the scene with Holmes walking away. They turned to Ms Hawkins and Stamford, eager for reactions. Stamford looked dumbstruck. Ms Hawkins looked like she just figured something out and was quite happy about it.

“Ms Hooper, you’ve been hiding things from us. When were you going to say you can act?”

“Ms Hooper,” Stamford cut in, “I had no idea you were such a good actress.”

“Oh, well, I never really…” Ms Hooper started to turn bright red.

“That was brilliant,” Ms Hawkins said with a wide smile.

Ms Hooper bit her lip. “Really?”

“Really.”

Ms Hooper turned to Holmes, who was smiling at her as well, and making her blush all over again.

“Right, let’s keep going, we’re still on the clock.” Ms Hawkins called back to order, “On to the date night, please.”

Ms Hooper’s participation helped Holmes’ progress greatly. So much so that Ms Hawkins invited her to stay to help with the songs, and they all discovered she also had a lovely singing voice.

They managed to get a run-through of the Date Song, with minimal criticism on Holmes’s part about the choice of a first date in an amusement parks. Their acting as they jumped apart at the end made Stamford laugh out loud, and was applauding before they had finished the song.

“Just keep in mind things may change once you’re with Ms Adler and Morgan.” Ms Hawkins warned before she left for the day. “But great job today, Holmes. And you my dear,” She added to Ms Hooper, “You are a treasure. Bye now!”

Holmes waved her goodbye and turned to Stamford. “Can I use the studio again tonight?”

“Yes, yes, but come upstairs for dinner first.”

Holmes knew that Stamford just wanted him to talk to Watson, and followed him. But all they found upstairs was an empty office, and a cane leaning against the desk.

Stamford frowned. “How did he even manage to make it home? It’s not that far, but still.”

“I’ll bring it to him when I’m done here.” Holmes offered.

Stamford looked surprised but pleased. “Is he on your way?”

“That depends. Where does he live?”

* * *

 

Watson frowned when he heard a knock at his door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and besides the random salesman, no one disturbed him this late at night. It was quite unexpected to find Holmes standing there, hands behind his back.

“Good evening, Watson. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”

“How did you find me?”

“Stamford.”

Watson tisked.

“I wanted to return this to you.” Holmes revealed Watson’s cane that he had been keeping hidden behind his back.

Confusion painted Watson’s features. “I… um, thank you.” He reached out and took it, but kept it at arm’s length, stunned by the sight of it.

Holmes slipped his hands into his coat pockets. “Watson, I…”

Watson lowered his arm, looking as if he was suddenly remembering what was happening.

Holmes continued. “I… I didn’t want to hand you the notes without an explanation, but I… well, you weren’t there when I stopped by, and I didn’t want to be late for rehearsal, so I-”

“Stop, stop, just stop.”

Watson had listened to Wiggins and Dimmock giving their reports to Stamford. If what they were saying was true, that they had somehow stumbled upon the next big star, then Morgan would be an idiot to pass. Watson knew he should be happy about this, but that didn’t change the fact that this arrogant prick gave him notes without thinking about the consequences. There was no way he was going to revise the script just because this undercover amateur had a few ideas.

Watson took a deep breath and reminded himself this would all be over soon, and he’d never have to work with Holmes again. “Just... forget about it. Focus on the audition.”

“Right, yes, of course.” Holmes bit his lip. “Can I ask you one thing?”

Watson crossed his arms and waited.

“Did you read them? The notes?”

“No.”

Holmes nodded, and shifted his weight, “Will you?”

“Don’t know yet.” Watson took a step back to close the door, “Good night, Holmes.”

Holmes stood a moment in front of the closed door. “Good night, Watson.”

**END CHAPTER 3**


	4. The New Edward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Audition with Morgan, meeting Ms Adler, and developments in the investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'd like to point out this story now has 15 chapters. Because apparently it would be a good idea to have a dedicated chapter to the Premiere, which I was conviniently trying to glaze over. You can all thank May-shepard for that.

 

**Monday morning - Audition day – 53 days to the Premiere**

Around eleven thirty, having spent his morning at the bank, Stamford walked down the long corridor to the stairs leading up to his office. He had his right foot on the second step when he heard the faint sound of the opening song. He paused and listened to Holmes’s deep voice, a soothing sound to the rough start of his day.

By the chorus, Stamford had followed his ears down the corridor to the rehearsal studio, about ten feet from the stairs. He pressed his ear against the polished wood, closed his eyes and smiled as he felt hope for the first time in a long while.

The piano finished with a flourish as Holmes sang the last note.

“You can come in, Stamford.” Holmes said shortly after.

Stamford chuckled and opened the door. “That was beautiful.”

Dimmock was sitting at the piano, the sheet music spread on the cover. Holmes was standing a few feet to his right, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and music in hand.

“It’s all thanks to Dimmock, here, Holmes replied with a smile.

Dimmock smiled and mumbled something about having talent to work with. Stamford spread his arms as he walked over to Holmes and hugged him. Dimmock chuckled silently at Holmes obvious discomfort, arms trapped against to his sides.

“Are you going to keep doing that?” Holmes mumbled to Stamford.

“I can’t help it. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and you’ll have been a dream.” Stamford repeated and pulled back, hands squeezing Holmes’s arms. “Morgan is going to love you.”

Holmes looked resigned. “That’s the plan.” He pulled away. He shuffled the pages in his hands and spoke to Dimmock. “Can we work on the third verse of the opening again?”

“I told you, you’ve got it down, we should move on to the first meeting so it’s ready for this afternoon.”

“I know but…” Holmes looked at Dimmock with wide eyes and a slight pout.

Stamford was surprised to see Dimmock blush and look away.

“Fine, one last time.”

Stamford patted Holmes’s back. “I’ll let you work.”

Stamford closed the door behind him, a broad smile on his face and a skip in his step as he headed for the stairs.

* * *

 

**Monday Afternoon – Acting rehearsal**

Dimmock, Wiggins, Holmes and Ms Hooper had already in the rehearsal studio when Ms Hawkins stepped in.

“Alright, Holmes, I trust you’re well rested, warmed up and ready, because we have a lot to do before tonight’s audition,” Ms Hawkins said as she set her things on the table. “As you can see, I’ve asked Dimmock and Wiggins to join us to fine tune your performances. We’ll start with the opening song, then the first meeting. If we have any time left, we’ll work on the date.”

“Should I…?” Ms Hooper said looking around, unsure what to do.

“You can sit down for now.” Ms Hawkins instructed, “Dimmock, if you please.”

Dimmock played an A chord on the piano, and Holmes hummed the note as he rolled his shoulders and stepped onto his mark.

Ms Hawkins sat back, crossed her legs and arms. “Whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

 

**Monday Night - The Audition**

“Stamford, come on, you’re making Morgan sound like a comic book villain.” Lestrade commented as he fiddled with a toothpick.

“That’s… actually a perfect description of him.” Watson looked atop the desk for a pen.

Holmes was looking out the window onto the deserted street. “I’ve done my research on Morgan. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe _you_ will,” Stamford replied to Holmes, “but if we don’t make this work, I don’t think…”

Watson and Lestrade eyed each other and tried to think of something to say to distract Stamford before he could talk himself into a panic attack.

“We should head down.” Lestrade dropped his toothpick in the trashcan.

“Yes, let’s.” Holmes looked grateful to get away from Stamford’s nervous fretting.

Lestrade led the way out of the office, followed by Holmes. Stamford put on his suit jacket and turned to Watson, who was still sitting at the desk.

“John?”

Watson didn’t look up, busy writing something. “Hm?”

“You coming?”

“Ah, no.”

“Come on, mate.”

Watson sighed and looked at Stamford. “I’d really rather not.”

“John, please.”

Watson caught sight of Stamford’s pleading eyes and looked away. With a resigned face, he folded the paper, slipped it in his trouser pocket and grabbed his cane.

“Good lad.” Stamford smiled and clapped Watson on the back as they exited the office.

They reached the top of the stairs just as Holmes and Lestrade reached the bottom.

“Where are they going?” Watson asked as they turned right rather than left, towards the rehearsal studio.

“They cleared the crime scene, so Morgan wants the audition on set,” Stamford replied over his shoulder.

“Of course he does.”

Lestrade and Holmes waited for them at the stage door. Stamford wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and smoothed his suit before he turned to Holmes.

“Whatever happens in there, I want to thank you for your help and the energy you’re putting into this movie.”

“Case.”

“It’s more than a case.”

“To you, maybe. Not to me.”

“I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“A testimony to my acting skills, then.”

“Holmes.” Lestrade warned.

Holmes smiled tightly. “Thank you, Mr. Stamford. I hope I will not disappoint you.”

Stamford eyed Holmes worriedly as he turned away. He took a deep breath, and stepped through the studio door. Holmes rolled his eyes and made to follow him when Lestrade grabbed his arm.

“Can you at least try to hide how much you don’t care about anything?”

Holmes straightened to his full height and looked down at Lestrade. “I care about some things.”

“You mean other than yourself?”

Watson cut in. “Alright, girls, settle down.”

Holmes’s head whipped around, his eyes wide, affronted. Lestrade let go of Holmes’ arm and took a step back, straightened his suit a bit vigorously, and followed Stamford inside. Holmes stared at Watson a long moment before Watson nodded towards the door. Without a word, Holmes raised his chin and walked past Watson onto set.

“Wanker,” Watson muttered to himself and followed him in.

The studio was lit as if they were filming; the work lights low, enough to see and move around safely, but it looked sombre next to the bright lights of the sound stage. With the town backdrop in place, it felt like they had a piece of outside inside. It created a perfect setup for the audition.

Stamford ushered Holmes to the sound stage, past the crew sitting along the edge of the set. Everyone was there, including Murray, Small, Ms Louise and a scowling Ms Riley. Ms Adler and her assistant Ms Kate were sitting apart from the group, huddled close and whispering.

Morgan was standing centre stage, his white silk scarf contrasting with his black turtle neck, half his face hidden behind his sunglasses. The look was so dramatic that Watson snorted derisively at the sight of him. It was loud enough for Holmes to hear, making him look over his shoulder. Their eyes met, and Holmes smirked before schooling his features.

As they came up to the director, Stamford widened his smile. “How do you do, Mr Morgan. Thank you again for agreeing to audition my candidate.”

“I gotta say, Stamford, I didn’t know you were such a risk taker. Quite the set of balls you got there.”

Stamford chuckled. “It’s not so much a risk when you have a sure thing in your hands.”

“Is that so?”

“Jimmy Morgan,” Stamford turned and presented Holmes. “I’d like you to meet Mr Sigerson Holmes.”

“Mr Morgan, it’s an honour to meet you.” With a winning smile on his face, Holmes extended his hand. “I’m a big fan of your work.”

Morgan shook it briefly and took a step back. “Well, Ms Hawkins wasn’t exaggerating, you are quite the looker.” Morgan started walking around Holmes, looking him up and down.

“I simply loved No Charge.”

“Obviously,” Morgan huffed, unimpressed.

“But I was much more intrigued by your work in What People Do.”

“Hm, someone did his homework.” Morgan winked at Ms Hawkins, who smiled back conspiringly.

“I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time.” Holmes replied.

Morgan waved his finger. “I can see why Stamford likes you; not just easy on the eyes, easy on the ego. But flattery can only take you so far.”

“Says the man who used every trick in the book to get me to work with him.” Ms Adler stepped forward, dressed in black from head to toe with white pearls around her neck. “Irene Adler, how do you do?” She batted her eyelashes, and offered her silk gloved hand.

“Sigerson Holmes, it’s an honour to meet the woman taking over the hearts of Hollywood.” He kissed her hand chastely. “And a privilege to get the chance to share the screen with someone with your skill and respect for the craft.”

Ms Adler looked Holmes up and down slowly. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Mike.”

Stamford laughed. “I picked you for _Elephant_ , didn’t I? Kicked off your career.”

“You just love bragging about that, don’t you?”

“Are you kidding, it’s my best line!”

“Enough,” Morgan said dryly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ms Adler chuckled. “Break a leg, Mr Holmes.” and slipped her hand around Morgan’s arm. “After you, Morgan.”

As they settled into their seats, Holmes took place in the middle of the sound stage. The bright lights revealed the light sheen of sweat at his temples. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders, and grounded himself.

Morgan’s voice broke the silence. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

When the piano rang the first chords of _Neuville_ , the opening song, Holmes’ head rose. He stared into Morgan’s eyes and, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, started singing.

“ _Just one of those days_ -”

He made it look like the words were coming out the top of his head, danced around like he wasn’t even trying. The song ended with Holmes walking off stage whistling the chorus.

Everyone broke out in applause, except Morgan and Ms Adler. It was only then that Watson noticed he had not moved a muscle the entire song. As if coming out of a dream, he leaned back in his chair and joined in the applause.

With a wide smile on his face, Holmes took the offered water and pat on the shoulder from Wiggins.

Morgan hushed the room with a raised hand, and turned to Ms Hawkins. “What else have you prepared?” His interest seeped through his bored tone.

“ _How Do You Do_.” Ms Hawkins looked from Holmes to Ms Hooper as they prepped for the next song. “And _It’s All Fine_.” She added quickly.

Ms Hooper looked up at Holmes worriedly. He looked down at her and mouthed _it’s all fine_ , making her giggle silently.

Morgan turned to Ms Adler. “Any preference, dear?”

Ms Adler, who had not taken his eyes off Holmes since he had started dancing, leaned in to whisper into Morgan’s ear. His eyebrows rose as she spoke, then leaned back to look at her in the eye. She chuckled and waited.

Morgan sighed. “Mr Holmes?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Ms Adler will do us the honour of joining you for your audition.”

Ms Hooper looked simultaneously relieved and disappointed. She squeezed Holmes’s forearm encouragingly and headed back to her seat. Ms Adler slipped out of her seat and made her way towards Holmes as if stalking her prey. She walked past him, her finger sliding along his chest as she moved to her mark.

She caught his eye and winked. “Just try and keep up.”

Holmes smirked as he sized up his new dance partner. “Yes, Ms Adler.”

Dimmock started the opening chords of the song. Instantly, their demeanour shifted; Ms Adler’s challenging stare slipping into a naïve infatuation. Holmes’s calculating eyes going wide and hopeful as he started singing.

Even though there were a few times where they weren’t perfectly coordinated, there was something about how they moved together, how they seemed to communicate without words, that made it seem like they had been dancing together for years. The song ended with them parting ways. Only Holmes was unable to look away from her, walking backwards to stage right as she exited stage left. He ended up stumbling and prat falling, getting a laugh out of the crew before they started applauding.

“Look at you, pulling out all the stops,” Ms Adler grabbed Holmes’s hand as they met centre stage to bow.

Holmes smoothed his suit. “I was told to make sure I got the job.” They shared a smile.

“Damn.” Lestrade muttered to himself. “I didn’t think he’d be _that_ good.”

Watson scoffed, finding Lestrade’s comment unable to do justice to what they had just witnessed. Watson tried, he really tried to look away, but he was transfixed. The way Holmes held himself, the way he moved when he danced. But there was something else, something about Holmes’s performance, Watson felt like he was seeing Edward for the first time. When it was Anderson it was… well, he wasn’t bad per se, but Anderson never played Edward; he played himself.

And here was Holmes, who had somehow found a way to embody the character in three days. His quirks, his essence, how he moved; it was all there. The story that Watson had been struggling to write for so long was suddenly clear in his head.

The applause calmed. Watson considered heading upstairs when Ms Adler spoke.

“I think we should try another one. What do you think, Morgan?”

Morgan sank further into his seat. “I think you’ve already made your decision, and now you’re just having fun.”

Ms Adler looked Holmes up and down. “Nothing wrong with a bit of fun…”

Holmes took her hand and spun her to her mark. “Hit it, Dimmock.”

That caused a bit of a reaction from the crew, and a happy cheer when the opening chords of _It’s All Fine_ started. They danced around one another, coming close and moving away just before they touched. After the second chorus, they stopped singing and held hands, which turned into couples dancing, until they broke apart, interrupted by closing time. They repeated the chorus as they walked out. On the last line, their hands joined once more.

The crew broke out into applause, all too distracted to notice Morgan turn to Ms Hawkins.

“Nice work, Ms Hawkins.”

“Nothing at all, Mr Morgan.”

He winked and with a little shimmy, lifted his chin, whipped his scarf around his neck and walked to the centre of the stage. The crew quieted once they saw Morgan.

“Mr. Holmes.”

“Yes, Mr. Morgan?”

He eyed Holmes’ mouth, “I believe you and I,” and back up to his eyes, “are going to get along...” He leaned closer to his ear. “Quite. Well.” Morgan backed away and winked at Holmes before turning around abruptly. “Watson!”

The crew, confused, turned to an unimpressed Watson.

“What?”

“Do we have a new finale yet?”

Watson looked like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m working on it.”

Morgan held Watson’s gaze. “Tick Tock.” And turned to Holmes. “Mr. Holmes.” He eyed Holmes from head to toe. “See you in rehearsal tomorrow.”

Stamford ran to Holmes as soon as Morgan disappeared through the door and hugged him. The crew broke out in cheers of congratulations.

Ms Hawkins waited for them to finish before speaking. “Congratulations Holmes. We’re happy to have you part of the team. Let’s give Holmes and Ms Adler a last round of applause.”

“Please, stop, it was all a group effort.” Holmes said with a wide smile, gesturing to the crew. “Thank you all everyone.”

Only they barely heard him, the applause surprisingly loud for the small group. Their performance had given everyone hope that the movie had a chance, and without their knowing, a chance that there will be a next Stamford Production movie.

With radiant smiles, the leading couple bowed once more. Holmes eyes found Watson’s in the process, making him look away and find it odd that the studio was so warm.

* * *

 

That night, after having patiently listened to Stamford rave about Holmes audition, Watson went home with his head buzzing.

He hung his coat, poured himself some whiskey, sat down at his desk and opened Holmes’s annotated script.

With the initial irritation of unsolicited criticism faded, Watson took a long sip of his drink and flipped to the first note. It was on page 12, in Jane’s opening dialogue with her parents.

_This doesn’t make sense; she’s a teenager working in the family bakery. Unless she’s explicitly showing interest in picking up the family business, then she doesn’t want to be there. And if her motivations are not related to family business, then this movie should be about that, not about love._

Watson found himself amused by the way Holmes expressed his opinions. He sat back in his chair, pondering over his own teenage years.

“Shit…” He shook his head. “The bastard’s got a point.”

The rest of the comments were along the same line: character motivations, how Jane and Edward related to one another, asking if there was more between the two than physical attraction. _Who gives up their life for someone just because they’re pretty? Is Edward that desperate? Beauty cannot be the only relationship basis._

Watson wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, but halfway through he was chuckling to himself, amused by this madman’s thoughts and comments. He could hear his posh baritone voice in his head: _Do people really do this?_ _Why do scenes like this always happen outside? Why would they be in formal wear in this scene? This is physically impossible, have you not heard of gravity?_

Watson closed the last page of the script and found himself looking at it with a fond smile. A part of him felt guilty for getting angry and storming into the audition. Now that he had read the notes, he knew Holmes really was just suggesting small changes here and there to give the characters and story more depth. He really was just trying to make a better movie. It had nothing to do with his ego.

Watson sipped his drink, reread the notes, and let Holmes’s words mix with his memories of today’s audition. It had been wonderful to see his characters come to life, not just individually, but together. Their playfulness, their banter, their tempers, how it all merged together… Watson closed his eyes and saw the movie play out in his head. The characters looked like Holmes and Adler, but they were Jane and Edward, now that he knew not just who they were, but how they talked, moved, acted and reacted.

Watson’s eyes blinked open, his irises adjusting to the light as he quickly moved to find a pen and write something down before he lost the thought. The note quickly dissolved into a full page.

Drink long forgotten, with a renewed thrill for his story, Watson took Holmes’s annotated script and started editing. Again.

* * *

 

**Tuesday morning – Stamford’s Office – 52 days to the Premiere**

Stamford walked into his office to find a sleeping Watson on his couch, and several copies of the revised script on his desk.

He chuckled, silently put down his things and grabbed a copy. It wasn’t long until he sat down to read, engrossed. A few minutes later, Ms Hooper walked in with coffee. Stamford quickly signalled towards the couch. She smiled fondly, and tiptoed over to hand Stamford his mug and nodded to the scripts.

Stamford whispered. “It’s good. Really good.”

Ms Hooper quickly grabbed a copy and sat to read.

It was a knock on the door twenty minutes later that woke Watson. Ms Hooper put aside her copy of the script and slowly stood to get the door, giving Watson enough time to make himself decent.

“Good morning, Ms Hawkins.” Ms Hooper said with a wide smile.

“Morning Stamford, Morgan wants to know if-” She cut herself off, noticing the scripts on the desk. “The studio could get a bit of a clean before afternoon rehearsals?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Stamford replied and turned to Ms Hooper.

“Of course, sir.” Ms Hooper smiled.

“Lovely.” Ms Hawkins strutted to the desk. “Should I bring these to rehearsal?” She pointed to the new scripts and smiled.

* * *

 

**Tuesday afternoon**

Everyone was reading the latest script revision when Morgan walked in, face half hidden behind his scarf. Ms Hawkins was sitting at the table and sipping tea. Ms Adler and Ms Kate were at the other end of the table, reading a single copy together. Holmes was slowly pacing the room, concentrated on what he was reading, but keeping an eye on what was going on.

Morgan took the copy Ms Hawkins was handing him and flipped to the last page.

_Finale Song – Pending._

“Well,” Morgan tossed it onto the table. “One can only hope for a miracle.”

“Read it.” Ms Hawkins insisted without looking up.

Morgan looked amused and joined them at the table. He grabbed his copy, eyed Holmes’s concentrated frown, before going over the latest rewrites.

A few minutes later he slammed his script onto the desk, jolting everyone in the room.

Morgan stared at Holmes. “What did you do?”

Everyone turned to Holmes, who clasped his hands behind his back.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t be coy. Ms Hawkins told me about Watson storming into rehearsal.”

Holmes shrugged. “Then you know all I did was give Watson a few suggestions.”

“A few suggestions!” Morgan laughed uproariously, “You almost got your head chewed off for telling him it was boring, predictable and without any substance! I’m not sure if you’re brave, naïve or just mental.” Morgan finally calmed down. “But that doesn’t explain how the hell Watson went from ex-military psychopath to including your notes in his latest revision.”

He looked at Morgan blankly. “No idea.”

That much was true. He had no idea what had motivated Watson to finally read his notes. Well, he had a few theories, but nothing tangible. He hadn’t anticipated such a result. It was as if Watson had breathed new life into his story.

Morgan walked up to Holmes and squinted. “Did you give him a blowjob or something?”

Ms Hawkins gasped. “Morgan!”

Holmes was taken aback by such a crude comment and its implications. He looked at the others; Ms Hawkins looked distraught and apologetic, Ms Adler and Ms Kate seemed amused. Normally, Holmes wouldn’t bat an eye by this type of comment, but as Sigerson, he should react. Before Holmes could figure out if he should be insulted, shocked, or angy, Morgan turned to Ms Hawkins.

“I’m serious, Watson is the most stubborn man I’ve ever met. Unless Holmes got down on his knees to lick his balls, I don’t see how this could have happened.”

Ms Adler leaned back in her chair. “Stamford most likely.”

“Stamford gave Watson a blowjob?” Morgan teased, making Ms Adler roll her eyes but she still looked like she was amused.

“Morgan!” Ms Hawkins gasped again.

Holmes had no idea what to say or do; this was his first day with the people he would be spending a lot of time with for the next few weeks. He didn’t want to make a scene, but he knew he couldn’t let the comment slide. Seeing how Ms Hawkins was starting to look at him worriedly, he opted with shaking his head and mumbling about never doing such a thing.

Morgan shook himself like a dog. “Ugh, forget it, doesn’t matter. At least we’ve got something to work with now.” He walked back to the table and opened his script. “Might as well do a read-through. If we have time left, we’ll work on stage directions.”

Still unsure how to act, Holmes made his way to the table and sat next to Ms Adler. Ms Hawkins read the stage directions while Morgan listened with his eyes closed, fingers caressing his lips as Holmes and Ms Adler read Jane and Edward. Morgan stopped them a few times to give them stage direction, making them repeat some sections. When their time was over, Holmes left the room feeling like they had done very little work.

But he did get a lot of information on Morgan and Ms Adler, which is why he told Stamford they needed to talk. Tonight.

* * *

 

**Tuesday evening – Holmes’s Hotel Room**

Even though he had only invited Stamford, Holmes was not surprised to open the door and find him accompanied by Lestrade, Watson and Ms Hooper.

They scrambled awkwardly into his small hotel room. Stamford shook Holmes’s hand vigorously, still filled with happy energy from Holmes audition. Lestrade patted him on the back. Ms Hooper gave him a warm smile.

“Thanks again for your help with the audition.” Holmes, no longer talking with his American accent, bent down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Oh, it was nothing at all,” Ms Hooper replied breathlessly and squeezed his hand.

Holmes was intrigued when he saw Watson tense in the corner of his eye. He turned in time to see Watson’s eyes go dark as Ms Hooper walked past him.

“Mr Watson.”

Watson cleared his throat before looking up and nodding. “Mr Holmes.”

Holmes wondered if he should wait until they were alone to say something about the latest script.

Stamford decided for him.

“Good heavens Holmes, what is this?” Stamford pointed at the wall facing the bed.

Watson’s eyes widened momentarily when he turned, as did Ms Hooper’s. Lestrade smiled fondly.

“Visual aid,” Holmes explained.

The wall was covered with paper clippings, movie posters of Stamford Productions, but also Ms Adler’s and Morgan’s repertoire. Next to that was the name of each cast and crew member that had been part of the movie written on pieces of paper. Some names had been crossed off. Others had personal information added in next to them, others with comments. Some with question marks.

“As you can see, I’ve already crossed off a few people from the suspect list, namely everyone in this room.”

Stamford chuckled. “Fair assessment.”

“I didn’t get much at the audition since I was blinded by the lights most of the time, but I got a few details about the crew that could potentially be useful.”

“Like what?” Stamford asked.

“The drugs for one thing.”

Stamford pursed his lips. “I figured that was likely, but I admit I never looked into it.”

“Why not?”

“In this industry, let’s just say the rules get bent a little.” Stamford laughed nervously. “You know how it is.”

“No. I don’t.” Holmes replied, deadpan.

“So.” Watson tried to break the tension. “How are drugs linked to fraud? Or to Anderson’s death?”

Holmes shook his head. “They aren’t. Well, I doubt it, although technically I can’t eliminate that possibility yet.”

Watson crossed his arms. “Then why are we here?”

“My fraud theory implied you were pocketing the money.” Holmes explained. “Now that I know it isn’t the case, and Watson isn’t fudging the numbers in the books, I started to think about other reasons why someone could profit from a bankruptcy.”

“Like a buy out?” Stamford suggested.

“Precisely.” Holmes pointed to the three names he had circled. “I spent the entire afternoon rehearsal with Morgan, Ms Hawkins and Ms Adler. I believe they are all involved, if not responsible.”

Stamford and Watson looked at one another, then turned to Holmes, unimpressed.

“I get it,” Watson started. “I mean, there’s something about Morgan. We called him a comic book villain yesterday, but that’s not a motive.”

“And Ms Hawkins?” Stamford nudged Watson with is elbow. “It’s probably because Morgan can’t do anything without his assistant.”

Holmes noticed Ms Hooper purse her lips. Stamford and Watson did not.

“But Ms Adler?” Stamford looked uncomfortable. “We’ve known each other for so long.”

“Trust is a powerful tool for a swindler.”

Stamford turned to Watson, his features painted with worry.

Watson clenched his jaw. “How is this linked to Anderson?”

Holmes eyes travelled the wall. “Not sure yet.”

Watson shook his head. “This is mad.”

Lestrade cut in. “It’s not.”

They all turned to Lestrade with wide eyes, except Holmes, who was smirking.

Lestrade crossed his arms. “I ran background checks on everyone. They all check out except those three.”

“I went through Morgan’s filmography.” Holmes pointed to the posters on the wall. “Not only are most of his works plagiarism, but they all appeared in the last five years. I’m still waiting to hear back about his school records, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there aren’t any.”

“You think he’s a scam artist?” Lestrade offered.

“Possibly. As for Ms Adler,” He looked at her in the poster of _Elephant_. “Well, she keeps her private life very private. We didn’t find much.”

Watson took a step to the left, looking at a separate, much smaller group of paper clippings and pictures. “What’s that section?”

Holmes watches Watson a moment before letting his eyes drift to the wall. “That’s not related to the investigation.”

Watson frowned and turned to the wall. He smiled when he noticed a piece of paper with Edward at the top.

Holmes eyes flickered to Watson before focusing on Stamford. “Tell me more about Anderson. If you had so many problems with him, why did you hire him?”

The reply came quickly. “Because he was cheap, and I got what I paid for.” Stamford rubbed his neck and looked at Watson, who was smirking. “Don’t tell Wiggins I said that.”

Watson raised his hands defensively.

Stamford continued. “He was an awful actor, but he knew how to charm his way up the ladder, which is fifty percent of the work if you want to get anywhere in this own. Anderson certainly met his match with Ms. Adler.”

“How so?” Holmes inquired.

“Barely a few minutes with her and he was infatuated,” Stamford explained. “She dragged him around like a puppy. He would have licked her shoes if she asked.”

Holmes looked disgusted. “Does that mean I should...flirt with her?”

Watson found it amusing Holmes had to ask that.

Stamford chuckled. “Flirting never hurts.” And patted him on the back.

Holmes rolled his eyes and turned to Lestrade. “Did you get the bloodwork yet?”

“Should get the call soon.”

* * *

 

**Tuesday night – Watson’s Flat**

Even though he was exhausted from revising all night, Watson kept tossing and turning in his bed. He tried slowing his breathing, stretching, made tea. When he finally reached for the whiskey bottle, he decided to stop ignoring what was keeping him awake.

He had this… image, in his head, of someone standing on a rooftop, or at window, and he was looking out at the horizon, as if returning after a long absence. He also kept seeing a scene in a casino, or maybe an illegal card game like the ones he had been to during his time in the army.

Watson didn’t know if this is a script, or a book, or anything even. All he knew was that it was useless to fight it. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. He knew he would only be able to sleep once it was on paper. With a whiskey on his left, Watson sat down at his typewriter, and wrote.

It was past midnight when his eyes started closing on their own. He dragged himself across the room and passed out on his bed, his mind finally at ease.

* * *

 

**Wednesday evening – Production Meeting**

“Thank you everyone for being here, it’s rare we get the cast included in production meetings, which is why we had to do it in the evening.” Stamford smiled widely. “Ms Hawkins, if you please.”

“Thank you, Stamford.” Ms Hawkins stood and smiled brightly. “Hello everyone, very excited to be here. So, we have five days left to prepare for a reshoot of an entire movie in four weeks, not to mention the pending Finale rewrite that will require rehearsals. This means we need to prepare for a marathon, okay? And weekends will be on call. So get some sleep while you can.”

The cast and crew groaned.

Ms Hawkins nodded. “I know, I know. Come one now, let’s go over the latest changes. Everyone turn to page twelve please.”

* * *

 

**Thursday evening - 50 days before the Premiere**

“Watson!”

He was leaving for the day, limping down the long corridor when he heard his name. Watson turned to see Lestrade coming out of the rehearsal studio and jogged over to him.

“Is everything alright?” Watson asked.

“Depends,” Lestrade smiled, “You busy tonight?”

* * *

 

**The Brown Derby**

“Thank you.” Lestrade told the waitress as she brought his and Watson’s drinks.

Watson looked from his whiskey to Lestrade. “You sure Stamford is paying?”

“Yes, stop worrying about it.”

Watson resigned himself, took a sip and looked around. They were at The Brown Derby, a popular restaurant a few blocks away from the studio. It was Morgan’s favourite, which wasn’t a surprise given the rococo décor and his private booth in the back. Lestrade had to bribe the hostess to sit them close enough to keep an eye on them.

“Why again, did Stamford tell you to do this?”

“It’s more like I highly recommended it.”

Watson frowned.

Lestrade fiddled with his drink, “Morgan thinks that this is Stamford insisting for extra security, but the truth is, I’ve worked enough cases with Holmes to know that we can end up chasing a criminal at any given time.”

“I appreciate the invitation.” Watson still looked worried. “But I’ll be a bit useless in a foot chase.”

“Figured you’d just trip ‘em with your cane as they ran by,” Lestrade said with a wink.

Watson laughed, but he felt rather bitter about it. He wished he could be more helpful with the investigation, but it was no use. Tripping or hitting someone with his cane was the extent of his usefulness.

At least he was included in the meetings, and frankly he didn’t mind keeping Lestrade company. They had never gotten a chance to get to know each other. It was nice to get a free meal out of it too.

Lestrade put down his drink and eyed the other table. From where Watson was sitting, he had a good view of Holmes’ left profile, and the way Ms. Adler was draping herself on him.

Watson sipped his drink and looked anywhere but at them. “I came here once when I first moved here. Not really my vibe. I prefer Musso’s.”

“Like every other writer in Hollywood you mean?”

Watson chuckled. “Yeah, probably.”

There was a loud exclamation from Morgan, making them turn and watch Morgan tease Holmes, making him blush and smile.

“I swear he’s a whole other person,” Lestrade whispered, “I’ve never seen him smile so much, it’s so weird. I mean, I didn’t even think he could blush.”

Watson wondered what else made Holmes blush, and tried to hide his shock from even having the thought.

“What brought you to Hollywood, anyway?” he asked Lestrade, hoping the story would distract him from his current train of thought.

Lestrade smirked and leaned his elbows on the table. “Funny story.”

“Is that so?”

“While I was still living in London, working at the Yard, I came here on a well-deserved vacation. Hollywood felt so different from London, especially with all the sunshine. One day, I was walking around with the wife, and somehow, we ended up in the middle of a bank robbery. This guy came running out with a mask. I tackled him as he ran past me. Instinct just kicked in, you know? I was going to keep him on the ground until the local police showed up, but this kid just runs up to me, angry as hell, and starts telling me off, saying something about how I had just ruined a take.”

Watson could just picture it. “Oh no.” He started laughing, picturing the commotion it must have caused on set.

“Oh yes. The crew was just around the corner, I could have easily spotted them, but I was too busy taking down the robber, well, actor. I felt horrible, apologised for about ten minutes, until the director came to see me. He offered me a job on the spot. Head of security on set, and consultant for fight scenes.”

Watson was impressed, and let his smile grow when he spotted Holmes watching them in the corner of his eye. “You’re right, that is quite the story. And quite a change, from copper to security guard. Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes I do, but it… It takes a toll on you; the long hours, always dealing with criminals, murderers.”

“I get it.”

“I just wish the missus had followed.”

Watson leaned his elbows on the table. “Sorry, mate.”

Their plates arrived then, distracting them both from the awkward conclusion of Lestrade’s story.

“How ‘bout you, how’d you end up in Hollywood? Working for Stamford of all people.”

Watson chuckled. “We went to med school together. He dropped out when he inherited the production studio.”

“Medical school? I thought you were a Soldier.”

“I was. Field Surgeon.”

“Damn.” Lestrade looked impressed, then frowned. “How’d you go from that to writing movies?”

Watson eyed his cane. “I got shot.” He stared at his plate. He didn’t want to see Lestrade’s pity.

The silence felt heavier under the sound of laughter coming from Morgan’s table.

“That’s how it started. I got shot.” He pushed his food around his plate. “I was in the hospital, recovering. I was bored, miserable, but I wasn’t the worst off. The soldier on my left had lost an arm and a leg. We started chatting when they were easing him off the pain meds. He asked me to tell him a story, to distract him. And I just…” Watson scratched the back of his head as he remembered the look on that soldier’s face. “I couldn’t say no. Said the first thing that popped into my head. A story I’d heard in the field: three special ops on experimental drugs dropped by helicopter. They were completely delirious, paranoid, but still managed to get into enemy territory and do some serious damage before they all died of heart attacks caused by the drugs. That made him laugh, well, as much as he could with those wounds.” Watson chuckled, “There was this one crazy story about how this one guy stepped on a land mine and…”

Lestrade’s cleared his throat, making Watson look up and around, noticing they were getting dirty looks from the other tables.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind, it’s just-”

“No, it’s fine, I forget these stories are bit gruesome to most people. War sort of leaves you a twisted sense of humour.” Watson took a bite of his pasta and continued his story. “Before we knew it two hours had passed. That’s when he told me that before he got drafted, he had been studying literature. He told me I should write, that I was a natural storyteller. So that’s what I did when I got discharged. Months without a job and about to run out of my army pension, I started to send my works to editors, but never got a call back. I went to see them, asked for some advice. They told me my stuff was good, but it wasn’t marketable.”

Lestrade frowned. “What were you writing?”

“Army stories.”

Lestrade’s face was a mix of confusion, curiosity, and anger.

“Yeah,” Watson nodded to Lestrade. “That’s probably the face I made. So I asked them what I should do.” And paused to eat.

“What’d they say?”

“ _Ever write a movie script?_ ”

Lestrade chuckled.

“Talkies were fairly new,” Watson continued, “There weren’t many script writers out there. They suggested I start with romance, that _that_ would sell. And that’s exactly what I did. Eight weeks later I sold my first script.”

“But that was in London.”

“Yes.”

“So, how did you end up with Stamford in Hollywood?”

Watson smiled. “I bumped into Stamford, during a trip to London to see family. He was so excited to hear I was writing and insisted I send him a script. The day before his flight back, he came to see me and offered me a full-time job writing for Stamford Productions. He even had an extra plane ticket with him.”

“Certainly sounds like Stamford.”

“Honestly, I think he just wanted someone to take care of the books for him.”

Lestrade burst out laughing, getting them a few odd looks from the other tables, and a curious stare from Holmes.

“I don’t mind doing the books. I’m paid to write, I decide my own hours, and working with Stamford is nice, even if he is a bit dramatic sometimes. It’s a great gig really.”

“Did you ever see him again, the soldier who asked for a story?”

Watson looked down at his plate. “He shot himself six months after he got shipped home.” _Just like I was going to._ Watson still couldn’t let it go, how unfair it was that he was alive, and not the brave soldier who had a loving wife and children waiting for him when he was discharged.

“I’m sorry.”

Lestrade’s voice pulled Watson’s out of his thoughts. “It’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “I need the washroom.” And quickly left the table.

He wanted to leave. Watson didn’t fit in a place like this, didn’t deserved the life he had, but he headed for the loo. It wasn’t the first time he had told that story, he was used to it, to how it made him feel, but he had never told it in a posh restaurant before. It felt worst somehow, as if the décor was adding a thick layer of irony to the unfairness of the situation.

Watson pushed through the padded door of the men’s washroom, grateful for the soft lighting.  He splashed a bit on water on his face, and held the sink, head hung low between his shoulders.

The washroom door opened, but Watson didn’t move, just focused on his breathing.

“Watson.”

The deep voice made Watson look up, and their eyes met in the mirror.

“Holmes,” Watson replied, the name catching in his throat.

Holmes walked up to the sink on Watson’s left. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Watson was pleased to hear his British accent. “You as well.”

He knew he should say something about the latest script revision, but all he could focus on was how Holmes’ shirt was making his eyes look green.

“I wanted to-”

“I’ve been meaning to-”

They started to speak at the same time.

“Sorry go ahead.”

“No you first.”

Watson took hold of his cane to ground himself and turned to face Holmes. He was still trying to figure out what to say when Holmes started speaking.

“The past week has been an interesting anthropological experiment in microcosms, and how teamwork, or rather the combination of all the participants strengths, can produce a piece of art that is not only an aesthetically pleasing, but also solicits specific universal emotions in the audience. These can lead to a powerful message that has the potential to change the way one can view the world. I’m sure you’re familiar with the war propaganda, which just proves my point on the power that cinema can-”

“You getting to the point soon?”

Holmes mouth closed abruptly, and he looked down at his hands. “I wanted to… thank you. Not just for reading my notes, but for… considering them. The result… exceeded expectations.”

“Exceeded expectations?”

“Well, I’m still sceptical of the idea of someone abandoning everything for love, especially if it’s a new relationship, it’s so foolish. But,” Holmes shrugged, “I did find myself… pleased when they kissed at the end.”

Watson crossed his arms. “Are you trying to be nice?”

Holmes opened his mouth, paused, closed it, and seemed to shrink back. “Yes.”

Watson took a last look at himself in the mirror, “Look at that, something you aren’t good at on the first try.” He glanced at Holmes’ reflection, and quickly turned away.

Watson was almost at the door when Holmes spoke.

“You’re a good writer.”

Watson turned slowly.

“The script, it’s… good.”

“Thank you,” Watson replied, and fought a losing battle with a smile. “You’re a good dancer.”

Holmes watched him through dark lashes. “Just dancing?”

Watson chuckled. “You can sing and act, and you’re a good detective,” He looked away, shifted his weight. “But your dancing…”

Their eyes met, and Watson nervously licked his lips, before a small smile appeared on his face. Prompted by Lestrade’s comment from earlier, Watson took notice of Holmes’s smile, or lack thereof, compared to the broad toothy grin he had plastered on for his Actor persona.

Holmes’s lips had barely moved, merely changed angles, making his cheekbones seem sharper. But his eyes were bright, vivid, somehow able to communicate more than Watson knew was possible. He found himself trying to bottle up the image in his head, take a picture, find the words to describe it so he could include it in one of his stories.

Watson lowered his gaze, embarrassed by his train of thought. As he did, his gaze fell upon Holmes’s lips and found himself licking his own. Watson looked back up, he noticed a soft blush spread across Holmes’ neck and cheeks, and could have sworn his eyes had changed colour, and wanted to take a step forward to be sure. As he felt himself start moving, Watson couldn’t help but think this felt like one of those scenes right before the protagonists would kiss.

He stopped himself, closed his eyes, shook his head. “You, uh.” Watson cleared his throat. “You should probably head back before Lestrade starts looking for you.” He tightened his hold on the door handle.

“No need. He’s waiting outside.”

“Oh.”

Holmes was about to say something when Watson nodded his goodbye and left.

Lestrade walked in shortly after, trying to hide his frown. “Everything all right?”

“Fine.” Holmes smoothed his suit in the mirror before putting on his wide toothy smile. “Just fine.” He repeated with his American accent, and walk past Lestrade with his head held high.

“Yeah, I can’t wait ‘til this is over.” Lestrade muttered to himself.

* * *

 

**Friday evening – Stamford’s office - 49 days before the Premiere**

“I swear, he’s either monologuing about some long-winded story to explain abstract concepts that have nothing to do with the movie, or making us repeat the same lines over and over and over again for no logical reason. It’s like he’s just there to abuse power.”

Holmes had been pacing the office since he had arrived, going on about Morgan for almost fifteen minutes now. Lestrade was listening with a small smile on his face, arms crossed, half sitting on the corner of the desk. Stamford, looking tired, was sitting in front of the desk by force of habit. Watson was sitting on the couch, reading the paper, even though they all knew he wasn’t.

“And the worst part is, I can’t say anything! I’m supposed nod and smile like an idiot. It’s horrendous.”

A derisive snort came from behind the paper. Stamford and Lestrade exchanged knowing smiles.

Holmes stopped pacing and turned to Watson. “What?”

Watson lowered the paper enough to look at Holmes. “Well, you’re describing most people in Hollywood.”

Holmes face fell. “Oh God they’re all like this?” He turned to Stamford and Lestrade, who both shrugged.

“Well…” Stamford mused. “Depends on the style...”

“Whatever show they put on, it’s all smoke and mirrors so no one notices that what they’re saying isn’t creative or clever, it’s bullshit.” Watson muttered disdainfully before raising the paper again.

Stamford looked tired, as if he had heard this speech from Watson already. Lestrade looked amused, as did Holmes, who looked away and seemed to be smothering a laugh.

“Well.” Stamford jumped on the chance to change the subject. “Before we discuss the case.” Stamford eyed Holmes with a serious face. “About the press conference tomorrow, I just want you to understand how important these are for the success of the movie. You must charm the reporters, even though their job is to try and get a rise out of you. They will do anything to get a front page.”

Holmes tilted his head to the side. “Isn’t a front page good for the movie?”

Stamford shook his head. “Not when it’s bad publicity.”

“I thought all publicity was good publicity.”

“Fair point, but not when you’re about to go bankrupt.”

“Technically, given the fact that someone is purposely trying to make you go bankrupt, the press conference has little impact.”

Lestrade cut Holmes off with a loud cough. Holmes turned to see both Lestrade and Stamford staring at him angrily.

“Smile and Charm, got it.”

“Thank you.” Stamford replied calmly.

Holmes turned to Lestrade. “Any news on the blood reports?”

“Yes.”

“Finally. It took them long enough.” Holmes held out his hand for the paperwork.

“There are none.” Lestrade continued.

Holmes arms dropped. “How?”

“The evidence pointed to accident, so they didn’t run bloodwork.”

Holmes frowned. “That’s unusual. No matter, they can run them now.”

“That’s what I told my contact. He said that the case is already closed, so they won’t run bloodwork unless it’s court issued, which would blow our cover and ruin the movie, which means Stamford goes bankrupt.”

“Well,” Holmes crossed his arms. “That confirms my theory: Anderson was poisoned.”

Stamford blanched. “What? But how?”

“Correct me if it is different in America, but in Police Standard Procedures, to close an investigation involving one or more dead bodies, autopsies aren’t a requirement, but bloodwork is. This means whoever is behind this managed to get this case closed without filing blood reports. They either have friends in high places, or a lot of money.” Holmes concluded with a glint in his eye. This investigation was turning out to be much more interesting than he was expecting.

He turned just in time to catch Watson’s eye before he hid behind the newspaper.

Holmes continued pacing the room, steeping his fingers against his chin. “Now, if this murder was planned to look like an accident, that means they did not want to stop filming completely. They need this movie to premiere. Which means whoever planned this had someone ready to replace Anderson.”

“Only Stamford showed up with you.” Lestrade said, please he was catching on.

“Yes, which changed everything.”

“How so?” Stamford asked.

“Because with their candidate, they had control over the product. They could still make a flop, and seal Stamford Productions fate. But now, with my arrival and Watson’s latest rewrites, this movie has every reason to succeed. It would be almost impossible to make this movie fail without getting caught. They need to figure out how to make Stamford go bankrupt even though the movie is a success.”

Stamford sagged further into his seat.

Lestrade tried to keep a brave face. “Any ideas?”

Holmes pursed his lips. “A few, but nothing concrete. They won’t put anything into motion until principal photography starts. They need a bit of time to prepare.”

**END CHAPTER 4**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Brown Derby Hollywood is a real thing (which I did not know as a Canadian), as well as Musso and Frank Grill (which is known to be popular with writers). They are both still open in Hollywood. I hope to go one day.


	5. Show Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Principal Photography.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was not planned. It sort of happened because of Nanowrimo, and May-shepard's suggestion (I say suggestion, it was mostly squeeing) to put in more filming scenes.  
> It turned out to be a good call.

**Saturday morning - Press Conference – 48 days before the Premiere**

The small room was filled with journalists, all at different levels of boredom as they waited for the press conference to start. Bright lights were directed towards a long table, set with a white tablecloth and four silver microphones in front of each chair.

The reporters bustled to life when the door opened, and Lestrade ushered the small group to the table and microphones. Stamford sat first, Morgan second, then Holmes and Ms Adler. They strategically put Ms Adler last, knowing the cameras would start flashing as soon as she stepped out, thus blinding everyone. It also meant no one noticed Ms Hooper rounding up the group and closing the door before leaning against it to watch.

The group smiled and posed, well, everyone except Morgan, face half hidden behind his sunglasses, while the cameras flashed. When Stamford waved, it signalled they were ready to start. Once everyone was seated, Lestrade went to wait by the door next to Ms Hooper who had her arms crossed to prevent from biting her nails.

“Good morning everyone, thank you for coming. Firstly, let us honour Philip Anderson. It was a pleasure to work with him. He will always be in our hearts. This movie will be dedicated to his memory.” Stamford lowered his head, and wiped his nose with his handkerchief. “But the show must go on.” He looked up. “It was difficult, but we found someone who was up to the task. Gentlemen, may I present our new lead: Sigerson Holmes.”

Multiple camera flashes went off as Holmes smiled and waved.

“We’ll take questions now,” Stamford called.

There was a rush as reporters stood and shouted, anything to get attention. Stamford pointed to someone on their right. The noise quickly died down to let him speak.

“Mr Holmes, is this your first movie?”

Holmes nodded. “Yes, as a matter a fact it is.”

“Any previous acting experience?”

“Just on stage: Shakespeare, Arthur Miller,” Holmes explained with a brave smile. “I also had a brief run in the chorus of Oklahoma on Broadway.”

Stamford pointed to someone in the back.

“Mr Holmes, what’s the biggest challenge you’re facing in taking on this role?”

“The schedule,” Holmes replied without hesitating, making Stamford and Ms Adler laugh. “See, the Premiere date hasn’t changed. Which means we have four weeks to reshoot the entire movie. Heck, I had a week to learn the entire thing.”

“Six days,” Stamford corrected.

“Six? Not if you count the days to prepare for my audition. No wait, if we started rehearsal on Saturday then…” Holmes seemed to be counting on his fingers. “Eight.” Holmes’s eyes widened as he turned to Stamford. “Wait, I learned the movie in eight days?”

“You sure did, kid.” Stamford said and laughed merrily.

Holmes’s bewildered look made the room laugh as well.

“How do you know you’ll live up to the task?” The reporter pressed without being prompted.

Ms Adler cut in with a scoff. “To prepare for his audition, he learned three songs, including choreography, in three days.” She leaned back in her seat. “And you know me boys, I don’t work with just anybody.”

There was a salacious chuckle among the reporters.

“Next question?”

“Mr Stamford, due to Anderson’s tragic accident, what precautionary measures have been taken to prevent any other accidents during production?”

Stamford looked pleased by this question. “We’ve removed the staircase completely from set. And we’ve made everyone on the cast and crew follow a course on safety and accident prevention, as well as basic first aid.”

Lestrade frowned at that and turned to Ms Hooper. She shushed him very quietly.

Stamford pointed to another reporter.

“Ms Adler, how is it working with a D level actor?”

She laughed. “He hasn’t got any bad habits yet, not like some A listers who think the world revolves around them.” The reporters laughed merrily. She turned to look at Holmes. “I get to mould him to my liking.” And winked, making him smile and blush.

There was a murmur of excitement amongst the reporters as they scribbled notes.

“How do you like working with Jimmy Morgan, Mr Holmes?”

“Oh goodness it’s great, really,” Holmes replied immediately, then turned to Morgan, blushing a bit. “I’ve always loved his work, so getting to be a part of this project, along with Ms Adler, well, gosh, it’s like a dream come true. I still sometimes feel like I should pinch myself.”

“And you Mr Morgan,” The reporter continued, “how has it been working with Holmes?”

The noise in the room died down as Morgan turned to Holmes. There was a pregnant pause before he leaned closer to the microphone.

“It's as if the universe had its own cruel way of telling us that Anderson wasn't meant to be part of the plan.”

The already quiet room somehow became heavy with silence, before Morgan slammed the table with his hand.

“Let’s make the universe regret it got involved!” And started laughing.

To try and defuse the awkwardness in the room, Stamford joined in quickly, laughing merrily with Morgan, as if this was some sort of inside joke amongst them. Ms Adler chuckled politely, as did Holmes.

Only Holmes wasn’t paying much attention to the Press Conference anymore. Because if he didn’t know better, Morgan had just given himself away.

* * *

 

**Monday morning - Day 1 of Principal Photography – 46 days to the Premiere**

Ms Adler was already in her chair next to the camera, Ms Kate at her side, when Holmes stepped out of his dressing room.

“And I thought I took ages to get ready,” she told him with a smile and an air kiss.

“I learn from the best,” Holmes replied with a wink.

Morgan chimed in. “Keep that chemistry for the camera, darlings. Come on, time to play.” He snapped his fingers and Ms Hawkins raised the bullhorn to call places.

Holmes offered his arm to Ms Adler, and they made their way to their marks on the sound stage.

“Right, we’ll do until ‘ _Of course not’_.” Morgan instructed and nodded to Ms Hawkins.

“Silence on set!” She called, “Lights go. Sound go. Camera go. Ready.”

“Action.” Morgan called.

“ _Isn’t that unusual?” Jane asked._

“ _Why would it be?” Edward replied._

“ _Well, I’ve never heard of a hunting rat before.”_

_Edward smirked_. “ _Don’t mean it don’t work.”_

_Jane crossed her arms_. “ _Prove it then_.”

“ _You got a rat?”_

“ _Ew, of course not,” Jane exclaimed._

“Cut!”

Ms Adler patted his hand, and Holmes let go of a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “That was lovely dear.”

“You were perfect,” he replied to her, and smiled nervously.

“Obviously,” she replied, and they laughed together before turning to Morgan.

The director was sunk in his chair, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling. Holmes turned to Ms Adler, confused. She kept her eyes on Morgan, but shook her head subtly. She seemed calm, but Holmes could see how tense she really was.

“Just give it a minute,” she whispered to Holmes.

Holmes frowned, perplexed, and turned to Morgan.

The director sighed, crossed his legs, and crossed them the other way, before suddenly springing out of his chair and walking towards them. Holmes clasped his hands behind his back and waited for his critique. Only Morgan didn’t talk, he just… stared at a fixed point between his shoulder and Ms Adler’s head.

“Again,” he whispered, “But with more…” and looked directly at Holmes, “truth.”

Taken off guard by Morgan’s behaviour, Holmes just nodded. Morgan then tipped an imaginary hat at Ms Adler, and headed back to his chair. While he had his back turned, Holmes turned to Ms Adler with wide eyes, mouthing to her _what was that?_ Morgan was sitting and snapping his fingers before Ms Adler could respond.

“Rolling!” Ms Hawkins called through the bullhorn.

Morgan sighed. “Action.”

They repeated the scene, only Holmes played a bit more with his reactions, as did Ms Adler.

“Cut!”

They waited while Morgan closed his eyes and rolled his head before standing up.

He looked at Holmes intensely. “You need to breathe more _into_ the scene.” Gesturing as if he was diving into air at the same time.

Holmes looked even more confused, but Morgan sat and called action before he could say anything.

It took six takes before they moved on to the next shot. They gave the lead actors a small break during the change up. That’s when Holmes managed to speak to Adler.

He pulled her aside, far enough not to be overheard but close enough to keep an eye on Morgan.

“What was that… circus?”

Ms Adler chuckled. “ _That_ was Morgan during principal photography. It’s his ‘big show’.”

Holmes stared at her, blinking quickly.

She patted his arm. “I know.”

“But...” Holmes wanted to burst. He had already been struggling with Morgan’s behaviour during rehearsal, but now the director was taking it to another level. Not only was he purposely slowing down the filming process, but the meaningless drivel was driving Holmes insane. But there was only so much he could tell Ms Adler without blowing his cover, and he had no idea how close she really was to Morgan. Not to mention he couldn’t risk his working relationship with her. They still needed to make a good movie after all.

Thankfully, she didn’t let him finish his sentence. “I know. Trust me I know. You should have seen him with Anderson.”

Holmes’s face fell. “Oh God. How did you survive?”

Ms Adler chuckled. “I managed. Listen, our job is to do as he says, and do it as best we can.” Her eyes softened at Holmes’s distraught face. She leaned in and whispered. “Honestly, I just do whatever I want.”

Holmes stared at her and just started laughing, finding the whole situation ridiculous. Ms Adler couldn’t help but join him.

He calmed down and looked down at her. “There’s no way out of this, is there?”

She chuckled. “Sorry to break it to you kid.”

Holmes shook his head. “God, how do you do it?”

“I have my tricks.”

He smiled fondly at her. “Well, if I’m doomed to go through this, I’m glad it’s with you.”

She smiled at him enigmatically. “So am I.”

Watson was grateful to finally get the rehearsal studio back. He liked working in Stamford’s office, but it didn’t have a piano, which was rather useful when working on a song. He spent the first half hour just playing, doing scales and basic exercises to warm up his fingers. He then moved on to a few of his favourite pieces before settling down and working on the finale.

Ms Hooper checked in on him around lunch time, bearing a sandwich and a cup of tea. She found him with his hair askew and crumpled balls of paper on the floor. Watson thanked her and picked at his plate as he continued working. When he took a sip of his tea and discovered it had gone cold, he decided he needed a walk.

Accompanied by the familiar sound of his cane hitting the floor, Watson limped past the staircase leading up to Stamford’s office, along the long corridor from the rehearsal studio to the sound stage. The light above the door was turned off, signalling he could walk onto set safely. Without thinking about it too much, Watson headed in. The crew was too busy finishing the afternoon set up to notice his arrival. He found a spot out of the way and watched them work. Soon after he noticed Lestrade coming his way.

“Afternoon.”

“Everything all right?” Watson asked.

“Yeah, it’s going good.”

Watson paused and turned at Lestrade. “Really?”

Lestrade laughed. “Really.”

Watson raised his eyebrows in surprise. The first day of filming with Anderson had been disastrous. Morgan had been horrible, criticising everything from the set, to the lights, to the costumes. Ms Riley had run off crying.

“I know. Even I’m a bit surprised,” Lestrade said to Watson’s astonished look.

“What’s on for this afternoon?” Watson asked.

“Opening song.”

“Oh, nice,” he replied calmly, but the truth was, Watson had been thinking about Holmes’s dancing ever since he had seen his audition. He had been hoping to see it again, and was quite excited to see it in full costume, set and lights.

Once the crew was settled, Watson moved to a different spot to get a better view of the set. Even though the lights, camera and crew blocked him a bit, he thought it was the best seat in the studio to watch Adler and Holmes perform.

They were currently doing a walkthrough of the choreography to find their places on the set and mark them, figure out the camera angles, their light and such. Throughout the process, Holmes stayed focused, concentrated. His movements with Ms Adler were technical, precise. Afterward, Morgan discussed the scene with the leading couple. From what Watson could tell, Morgan was doing his bullshit ‘vision’ speech. Morgan’s large arm movements tipped Watson off, as well as the bored look in Ms Adler’s eyes.

When Ms Hawkins called places. Holmes walked to his mark and rolled his shoulders. When he looked up, he stared directly at Watson. He felt like he was being caught spying on Holmes, but a part of him was thrilled he had been spotted. Watson gave him a small nod and was pleased when Holmes nodded back.

“Silence on set!”  Ms Hawkins called through the bullhorn.

Holmes turned away to prepare for the scene. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, grounded himself and slowly shifted his weight and posture. As music filled the room, Holmes opened his eyes and Edward appeared.

Watson was dumbstruck. Whatever they had done during rehearsal had taken Holmes’s performance from the audition and elevated it. His walk had a slight spring, as if he was putting most of his weight on the balls of his feet. He had a slight hunch, making his arms seem longer. He was even doing something with his jaw that transformed his face and gave his diction a slight texture to his Ts and Ps.

But his eyes… Watson couldn’t look away. There was this careless, almost naïve quality to them. It was fascinating when compared to his confident stare, like he could see through everyone.

The first steps in the routine were walked, yet every step Holmes took was danced. Every shift of his arm, his hand, the way he turned his head to look at every person he passed in the street. His body moved with such ease and grace, it was almost surreal. The man was entrancing. He was… more than Watson could ever dream of.

Watson pushed himself off the wall and left before the song was over.

As soon as Morgan called cut, the crew applauded. Holmes bowed and scanned the room, and looked disappointed when he couldn’t find Watson.

Ms Adler slipped her hand onto his shoulder. “Is everything all right, darling?”

Holmes seemed to snap out of his train of thought and smiled down to her. “Yes, of course.”

* * *

 

**Tuesday morning - Day 2 of Principal Photography –  45 days to the Premiere**

**Rehearsal Studio**

Watson spent the morning hunched over the piano, staring at the keys as if they had offended him. Everything he was writing was rubbish. And the more he tried, the worse it got.

The last rewrite had helped enormously, but it hadn’t help him make any progress on the finale. Watson knew why. He had always struggled with endings, and the original ending had taken a lot out of him to write. All he could hear in his head was the original version. He didn’t want the lack of a proper ending to be the cause of the movie’s downfall.

Watson could feel himself tense at the thought. Writer’s block was something he was used to dealing with, but not when his failure to provide a complete script meant he’ll need to find a new job. And he doubted anyone would accommodate his writing methods as much as Stamford had. Just the prospect of writing exclusively at his apartment again was horrid, reminding Watson of his first months after being discharged.

Thing was, he also knew that had nothing to do with why he was unable to focus this morning. 

All he could think about was Holmes’s and Ms Adler’s performance of _Neuville_ the day before. He had dreamt of it all night, and kept seeing it when he closed his eyes. The memory haunted him, filled him with a sensation of… he wasn’t sure if it was pride, or hope, but whatever it was, Watson didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be hopeful, didn’t want to think things were going to be fine, because he knew it wasn’t true. It was only a matter of time before it all went to shit.

And yet, it was all he could think about.

Watson raked his fingers through his hair, gripped it with both hands behind his head and pulled in frustration, letting an audible growl of anger escape him.

“Damn it,” he muttered before he grabbed his cane and made his way down the long corridor.

The crew was on final touches in setting up the next scene. Moran was working on the set while Small finished the microphone adjustments, both of them arguing over the best spot to place the microphone without affecting the sound intake. Morgan was talking with Wilder and Wiggins, while Ms Hawkins took notes at his side. Holmes and Ms Adler were sitting on the park bench on set, chatting as Ms Louise touched up their make-up.

Watson kept his eyes on the leading couple. Every time Ms Adler would burst out laughing she would touch Holmes; his arm, his shoulder, sometimes his hand. She never did that with Anderson. Then again, she barely spoke to Anderson. Ms Louise made Holmes turn his head, which made him look directly at Watson. He had the urge to turn away, to leave, but he was lost in Holmes’s piercing stare. It was almost a relief when Ms Louise stepped between them to finish her work.

They were finally ready to start filming. The studio lights were dimmed to focus on the bright sound stage. The crew fell into passive mode, most of them lingering around Angelo’s catering table. But as soon as they started filming, everyone was watching. It was odd, the crew only watched when it was musical numbers, not dialogue. This had never happened before. Watson found he enjoyed watching the crew react to the new dialogue, and it seemed to fuel Holmes and Ms Adler’s performances as well.

Watson couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face as he watched them bring his words to life. When they called cut, the crew would applaud and laugh, commenting on some lines and deliveries.

When they called a break to set up the next scene, almost three hours had gone by. Watson’s eyes widened, surprised time had gone by so fast.

* * *

 

**Wednesday morning – Day 3 of Principal Photography - 44 days to the Premiere**

**Watson's flat**

Watson stared at the ceiling all night. Again.

Well, until he got up at two in the morning, grabbed a few papers on his desk and headed to the studio. Stamford had offered him a set of keys years ago, when Watson had started working late at the office.  

He was lucky to get a cab at such a late hour, and his leg was grateful for it. It had started acting up more and more, and tonight was no exception.

Watson headed straight for Stamford’s office instead of the rehearsal studio. He knew he wasn’t going to work on the finale. He still had no idea what this new work was going to be. All he knew was that it was still there in the back of his mind, nagging him, as if it knew something he didn’t.

Kind of like Holmes, Watson thought, and scoffed.

Watson pulled out the pages he had written a few nights ago and started reading, rubbing his leg absent mindedly. What was most surprising to Watson was how different this new story was. He had been writing romantic scripts for so long that it felt odd, unfamiliar, but Watson couldn’t deny the slight thrill he felt when he immersed himself, slowly discovered this new universe. It didn’t take long until he loaded a blank page into the typewriter.

The sun rose around seven, the light filtering through the sheer white curtain onto Watson sleeping on the couch. He had a few pages on his chest, a pen on the floor.

Ms Hooper arrived around eight, alone, while Stamford was at another meeting at the bank. Watson didn’t wake at the sound of the door opening, nor when she carefully pulled away the pages. She placed them on the desk with the others, fighting back the urge to read the work in progress. Instead she busied herself with covering Watson with the blanket she kept in the office for this exact purpose, and silently stepped out.

Watson woke around ten thirty, relieved to have finally slept more than three hours in a row. He made his way down to set to get coffee and pastries. They were setting up for the next scene when he walked in. He made his way to Angelo, grateful to not have to wait for it to brew.

Coffee in hand, Watson turned to look at the crew setting up. That’s when he spotted it: Holmes was watching the room. If Watson hadn’t learned the technique in the army, he wouldn’t have noticed.

It was flawless. He was listening to something Ms Hawkins was saying, but his eyes kept wandering, never staying in the same spot too long. The new person effect had started wearing off, and along with the new energy on set, which meant nobody noticed his furtive glances.

Watson felt the urge to burst out laughing. It felt surreal, being one of the only people in the room that knew what was really going on. Then again, they really didn’t, or else they wouldn’t be investigating. But it was… nice, feeling included in the secret.

Watson looked around. As far as he could tell, no one was behaving suspiciously. Not really. Well, Small always looked a little off, but that hardly had anything to do with the work. The man was just… odd.

When he finished his coffee, Watson wandered over to Lestrade, greeting everyone on his way.

“Lestrade.”

“Watson.”

“Good to see you on set this much.”

“Yeah, well.” Watson licked his lips as he watched Holmes. “Helps clear my head.”

Lestrade nodded. “How’s the finale going?”

Watson pursed his lips, scratched the back of his head. “Any news on the,” Watson lowered his voice, “investigation?”

The corner of Lestrade’s mouth raised at the subject change. “Nothing yet.”

They watched them film the next scene, and Watson was impressed by their performances. It was a simple scene, but their acting just elevated it.

“Wow,” Lestrade muttered. “Coffee must have kicked in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they weren’t that good earlier.”

“No?”

“It was good but, not like that.”

Watson shrugged, but his eyes found Holmes’s immediately. “Brilliant.”

He was too far away to be sure, but Watson could have sworn he saw Holmes blush.

* * *

 

**Friday evening – Day 5 of Principal Photography -  42 days to the Premiere**

**Stamford’s office**

Holmes walked into Stamford’s office without knocking. “Good, you’re both here.”

Lestrade followed Holmes in, and nodded to Stamford and Watson with an apologetic look. Holmes’s British accent was back, as well as his lack of manners.

Stamford looked up at Holmes. “Everything all right?”

Holmes untied his jacket. “Ms. Adler invited me for dinner tomorrow night.”

Watson lowered his newspaper. “She what?”

Stamford smirked at Holmes. “She’s didn’t waste much time.”

“What do you mean?” Holmes looked genuinely confused.

“That she’s got her eye on you,” Lestrade explained.

“No surprise there,” Stamford giggled salaciously.

“Good,” Holmes nodded. “I was hoping this would happen.”

Watson put the paper down on the couch a bit harder than necessary.

Lestrade looked at Holmes with a confused frown. “I could see you two were getting along, but I’ve never heard you say that about anyone before. She must be special.”

Holmes tilted his head to the side. “She’s about to invite me to be part of the plan to bankrupt Stamford. I guess that would make her special.”

Lestrade chuckled.

Stamford shook his head. “You really think she’s a part of this? I mean, she’s… a woman.”

Holmes smiled. “That is exactly why this is such a brilliant plan. She’s taking advantage of this ridiculous preconception that women are only good to cook, clean and have kids. There is much more to Ms Adler than meets the eye. She may not be the head of the operation, but she’s fully capable of leading. Think about it, why wouldn’t she be the one who has connections in the police? In fact, she’s so well known that she probably didn’t even need to know the inspectors, she could have walked in there, ask to speak to the detective in charge, and very nicely ask to close the case so we could resume filming.”

“Brilliant,” Watson muttered to himself, and didn’t seem like he had noticed he was doing it aloud.

Holmes side-eyed Watson but turned back to Stamford. “It doesn’t matter if you believe my theory or not. I still have to go.”

Lestrade crossed his arms and sat on the corner of the desk. “Which restaurant are you going to?”

“The Cocoanut Grove.”

Stamford looked pleased at that, Watson rolled his eyes, and Lestrade looked like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry.

Holmes frowned. “What?”

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you this,” Lestrade explained, “but you’re about to spend an evening of chit chat with the upper class of Hollywood promoting the film.”

Holmes eyes widened in terror. “Oh no.”

“I’ll be there, remember?” Lestrade offered.

“That won’t prevent me from having to spend the evening enduring inane conversation.” Holmes said as he walked over to the window and sighed dramatically.

Stamford stood and smoothed his waist coat. “Holmes, this restaurant, this date with Ms Adler, it’s almost more important than the Press Conference. This evening is meant for you to get a good word out about the movie, and people will only do that if they like you. And the people that will be there, they’re directors, producers, actors, agents, casting directors. They are the who’s who of Hollywood. They are the ones that will make you or break you. And same goes for the movie. If you and Ms Adler do this right, this movie will be the talk of the town.” He paused. “Only in a good way, not in a cursed way. Thankfully, you will have the best partner in Hollywood to navigate you around the sharks.” He finished, doing his best to sound hopeful and supportive.

Holmes stared at Stamford a long moment. “Do you realise that you speak of Ms Adler very highly for her social skills and acting, but somehow believe that she is incapable of applying that same intelligence to other fields?”

Stamford looked dumbfounded. “I never thought of it that way.”

Holmes frowned. “And sharks? Really?”

“You really think she invited you because she’s part of this plan?” Lestrade asked. “You don’t think she fancies you?”

Holmes rolled his eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Lestrade frowned. “Tell us then, what is she going to do?”

“The simplest option for them is to recruit me into their operation. For that to happen, Ms Adler needs me to trust her, and ideally, for her to trust me as well. We’ve already built a working relationship, and tomorrow is meant to take that to the next level. If all goes as planned, I wouldn’t be surprised if she makes me an offer by the end of the evening.”

**END CHAPTER 5**


	6. Irene Adler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes and Ms Adler have dinner at The Cocoanut Grove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Cocoanut Grove is a [real location](Ambassador_Hotel_\(Los_Angeles\)) , as well as its history, but keep in mind I modified some facts for story-sake. Mainly that it is a nightclub, not a restaurant.

**Saturday evening - The Cocoanut Grove - 41 days to the Premiere**

Holmes and Ms Adler walked through the glass doors of The Ambassador Hotel, and into the lobby, Lestrade a few paces behind. It was decorated with cream walls with lush green carpeting, dark red couches, and padded chairs. The furniture was arranged into lounge areas in front of several large windows overlooking the terrace.

Holmes checked both their coats, revealing his black tuxedo, as dictated by Stamford, and Ms Adler’s black fitted dress. It had a high neckline, with a gold ribbon around her neck, and several others draped from the neck to her shoulders and arms, creating the illusion of liquid golden sleeves. 

They entered The Cocoanut Grove; the cream walls were a perfect background for the dark tuxedos and vibrant coloured dresses. Along with the live band, the place was buzzing with energy. The room was packed, making them slowly progress along the edges of the dance floor. Holmes followed the hostess leading them to their booth and watched Ms Adler as she waved and smiled to nearly everyone they passed, sometimes even stopping to speak and insist they should have lunch soon.

Their booth was in a well-placed spot, with Lestrade a few tables over to keep an eye on them. The booth was close to the dance floor but far enough away to survey the room, which Ms Adler started doing as soon as the waiter left with their orders.

“Seems we’ll be busy tonight,” Ms Adler said as her eyes came to a halt on their left. “I assume Stamford briefed you?”

Holmes spotted the man coming towards them. “Like miniature press conferences?”

She smiled. “That’s one way to put it.” She turned to Holmes. “If you play your cards right, tonight may be the start of your career, whether or not the movie does well. You can thank me later.” She raised her arm to wave at the man coming towards their table. “Gary, how are you darling?”

The sudden change of pace was a bit destabilising to Holmes. He had grown accustomed to the rhythm at the studio, and how the crew made sure to create this comfort zone for himself and Ms Adler during filming. But here, he felt like fresh bait dropped in a lion’s den. Everyone was watching or trying to get their attention, silently negotiating who would be the next to come and speak to them. It was a lot to manage at once, so much so that Holmes almost missed Ms Adler’s comment about the movie’s success. He put it aside to analyse later and focused on the conversation.

“I’m better now that you’re here.” Gary bent down and kissed her silk gloved hand.

Ms Adler giggled, low pitched. It seemed to have quite an effect on the man. “Meet my new co-star, Sigerson Holmes. Holmes, this is Gary Williams. He’s an agent.”

“How do you do?” Holmes shook his hand.

“How do you do?” Williams replied, and nodded towards Ms Adler. “Aren’t you a lucky bastard.”

Holmes chuckled. “Certainly am.”

“That’s quite a feat, getting yourself a job with Ms Adler. We didn’t even get the casting call to replace Anderson. Who’s your agent Mr Holmes?”

“I don’t-”

Ms Adler cut in. “Now, now, gentlemen,” she said, “We’re here for a nice relaxing dinner. You two can talk shop another time.”

“Of course.” He winked at Holmes and kissed Ms Adler’s hand. “Enjoy your evening.”

“You too,” Holmes replied with a smile.

Ms Adler leaned in closer. “Probably shouldn’t mention your lack of agent. We can’t risk the rumours about how you got the part. And if word gets out, you will leave the restaurant with your hands full of business cards.”

Holmes nodded. “Right, sorry about that.”

“No trouble. I’ve gotten rather good at it over the years, but I expect you to fend them off as well.”

“Of course,” Holmes replied, grateful to see the waiter arriving with their drinks.

“Incoming,” Ms Adler warned before smiling widely at the short man coming their way. “Will, how are you darling?” He kissed her gloved hand. “Have you met Sigerson Holmes?”

“William Holden, how do you do.” He shook Holmes hand.

“How do you do.”

“Lucky man,” Holden said to Holmes even though he was looking at Ms Adler.

She batted her eyelashes at him and giggled.

“Sure am,” Holmes replied, suppressing a smirk. He was starting to notice a pattern.

Holden turned to Holmes. “First time at the Grove?”

“Yes,” Holmes nodded. “It’s great.”

“They hosted the Academy Awards here in ’39.”

“Wow, really,” Holmes replied but had no idea what Holden was referring to and took note to ask Lestrade.

They chatted a bit more until Holden excused himself and left their table. The coming and going of guests continued until they received their meal, and were left alone.

“I understand why you insisted we order right away.” Holmes leaned back in his seat, grateful it was just the two of them at last.

They ate in silence for a moment, well, Holmes pushed his food around his plate. Digestion slowed down brainwork, and tonight he needed to be on high alert, not just with Ms Adler, but to manage the onslaught of information. Deductions about everyone kept popping into his head: _Prefers soap to shaving cream, likes to wear women’s underwear, cocaine user, saw his mistress before coming here with his wife._  

“Hm.” Ms Adler leaned closer to Holmes. “James Stewart is here.” She kept her voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Who?”

She turned to him wide-eyed. “How do you not know who James Stewart is?”

Holms shrugged. “I mostly did theatre.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“What,” Holmes looked around. “Is he coming to our table?”

“No, oh dear no,” She chuckled and sipped her drink. “Stewart doesn’t come to your table. You go to his.”

“Like you?” Holmes said, eyebrows innocently high, but he knew Ms Adler could tell he was being charming.

“Precisely,” she replied with a sly look in her eye.

She slipped her hand up to his shoulder and nodded to their right. “The tall one with the dark blue velvet jacket, that’s James Stewart. He’s type cast as ‘the everyday man with real-life problems’.” She said with a mocking tone.

Holmes scoffed. “Everyday man? In velvet?”

Ms Adler chuckled. “He’s got money. That doesn’t come with good taste.”

Holmes laughed. “Is he any good at least?”

“If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have a five-movie deal with Hitchcock.”

Holmes nodded, hoping he looked like he knew what Hitchcock was, and took a mental note to ask Lestrade.

Holmes turned to look at her, as she had started squirming around in her seat, seemingly to get a better view past the columns.

“Is everything all right?”

“Well, if James is here, that means… yes, there she is.” Ms Adler grabbed Holmes’ jacket sleeve and pulled him closer. “That’s Kim Novak. She’s coming back from the bogs--probably went there for a line or two.”

“Line?”

“Cocaine.”

“Oh.” Holmes’s made his eyes widen, and acted surprised when he turned to Ms Adler. “ _Oh_. Did you-I mean, you don’t have to tell me, it’s none of my business, I just-I”

“Holmes, stop talking.”

Holmes closed his mouth audibly and waited.

Ms Adler looked around them subtly and leaned closer to Holmes. “Calm down. Almost everyone here is on coke or painkillers.”

“Even you?” Holmes hoped his voice sounded worried enough that she didn’t feel like she was being interrogated.

She hummed as she shook her head. “No, not my kind of thrill.” She eyed Holmes. “Why, did you want some?” She craned her neck to search the room. “I’m sure I can-”

“No,” he replied quickly and realised his mistake. “No, I’m good, fine.”

She paused, looked at him closer. Holmes panicked. He hadn’t expected her to offer, and the access was much too easy. 

“I-I’ll be right back, I need the washroom.” Holmes said as he shuffled out of the booth. He stood and hesitated, looking left and right.

“On your left,” Ms Adler said without prompting.

Holmes spotted the sign. “Thanks.” He gave her a nervous smile and quickly made his way through the crowd, doing his best to avert his gaze in case someone wanted to speak with him.

He pushed inside and was grateful it was empty. He paced the room a few times when the door opened and Lestrade stepped in.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes, of course, fine.”

Lestrade locked the door and crossed his arms.

Holmes sighed heavily. “She offered me drugs.”

Lestrade pursed his lips. “Figured as much.”

“I said no.”

“I’m certain you did. But it doesn’t make it any less tempting, especially with this crowd.”

Holmes didn’t reply, just put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor tiles.

“You can talk to me. If you need to.”

Holmes nodded once and headed to the sinks. Lestrade stayed silent while Holmes washed his hands.

“You won’t tell Mycroft?”

“Not unless there’s something to tell.”

Holmes straightened his bowtie in the mirror.

“Oh, one last thing,” he said before stepping out. “Who or what is Hitchcock?”

Lestrade chuckled. “He’s a director. You’d like him.”

With a nod and a slap on the shoulder from Lestrade, Holmes headed back to the booth.

There were two men seated with Ms Adler when he returned.

“I leave you alone two minutes and already you’ve replaced me,” Holmes said with a winning smile as he walked up to their booth.

The older of the two chuckled. “How could you leave such a beautiful creature alone?”

“Now now, play nice with the new kid in town,” Irene replied with a wink. “Meet Sigerson Holmes, my new co-star.”

“How do you do.” Holmes shook hands with both while Ms Adler eyed Lestrade heading back to his table near theirs.

They chatted with them a moment longer before finally being left alone to eat.

“Sorry I left so long, I should have known they’d pounce a soon as you were alone.”

“I’m the one who should be apologising, I didn’t realise you were recovering.”

“I’m not.” Holmes cursed himself for letting that slip. “I mean, it’s nothing, nothing at all.” He tried to smile at her reassuringly, but judging by her reaction it did not work. He looked away, smoothed his waistcoat and finished his glass of water.

Ms Adler watched him a moment before turning to Lestrade, who nodded at her politely before continuing to watch the room. She sipped her drink and turned back to Holmes. “Ms Monroe could possibly make an appearance tonight.”

Holmes was grateful she wasn’t pressing matters any further, and listened to her expose on Hollywood’s who’s who.

“We haven’t seen much of her since Some Like It Hot came out. Apparently, Jack Lemmon and she got a little catty towards the end. He’s not much for going out, not unless it involves women taking their clothes off.”

She leaned back, pulling Holmes along with her, and angled his head to the left.

“That’s Gary Cooper at the bar. He’s the strong and silent type. I think it’s because he’s too stupid to have a conversation that isn’t scripted.”

“Is he any good?”

“Sadly, he is. He’s got this brooding stare that burns through the lens.” Ms Adler gasped audibly.

“What?” Holmes turned to try and see where Ms Adler was looking.

“Liz is here.” Her hand shot up to the side of her face and turned to Holmes. “Oh God, how do I look?”

“Liz who? And you look beautiful.”

“Elizabeth Taylor.”

Holmes blinked.

Ms Adler rolled her eyes. “How do you not… no, never mind. She’s the fabulous brunette over there.”

Holmes spotted the voluptuous woman with cascading hair around her beautiful face.

“Oh.” Holmes thought she was beautiful, even more so than Ms Adler, but there was something else. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but she had quite a lot of sex appeal. “She’s… something, isn’t she?”

“She is. Very much so.” Ms Adler bit her lip as she stirred her drink absent-mindedly. “Should we go see her?”

“Why?”

“Because…” She blinked, turned to Holmes, then down to her drink. “Forget I said anything.”

Holmes found her behaviour curious but didn’t let it show. Thankfully, their waiter arrived with their dessert, cutting short the uncomfortable silence.

They were having a very nice time sitting and talking with each other over dessert, but Holmes kept looking at the dance floor. He’d wanted to go dance since they had walked in.

“Did you want some more?” Holmes asked Ms Adler, pointing to the half-eaten piece of chocolate cake.

She shook her head and hummed her contempt. “I would, but not here.”

“Who cares what they think?”

“Stamford.”

Holmes chuckled and wiped his mouth with his serviette before slipping out of the booth. “Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” He offered her his hand hopefully.

Ms Adler smirked. “I’d be delighted.” She took his hand.

Pushing down his excitement, Holmes lead the way, the dark blue ornamented carpet muffled the sound of their footsteps. As if on cue, the crowd on the dance floor parted and let them slide in among them. Once they were in the centre, they started dancing as if it had all been choreographed.

“You’re doing quite well Mr Holmes.” Ms Adler whispered to him as the first song ended and most of the room was watching them.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Holmes replied, making her laugh.

“It’s been a while since I’ve gone out dancing,” Ms Adler said as the band transitioned to the next song.

Holmes thought about it. “I… I don’t believe I’ve ever gone out dancing.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m afraid it’s true. I'm not one to go out much.”

“Well, I’m honoured.”

He smiled down at her. “So am I.”

Holmes found he was enjoying Ms Adler’s company, which was odd, since he rarely did, with anyone. Even if the only reason he was working with her was because he was investigating her. He liked working with Lestrade but had no interest in his company for anything other than work. It was true what he had said, he really did enjoy filming with her, but he’d been so focused on the investigation that it hadn’t occurred to him it wasn’t just work related.

However, after having spent two weeks with Ms Adler, Holmes had noticed she was always in character. He found that odd at first, and had a few theories why. After seeing her tonight, working the room, smiling and being charming to every man who came by their table, even though every single one did not care about anything other than what was beneath her dress, Holmes now understood why. She was clever, charming, intelligent, and witty, yet her worth was only based on her sex appeal. So that’s what she used to get through her days.

“What did you want to be when you were young?”

The question caught Holmes off-guard. “As a career you mean?”

“Yes.”

Holmes blinked a few times. “I… I don’t-”

Ms Adler laughed. “Come on now.”

There was a brief pause as Holmes spun her out and back in.

“A pirate,” he replied as she spun into his arms.

“What?” She blinked up, confused.

Holmes led her across the floor. “I always wanted to be a pirate.”

She bit her lip.

Holmes frowned. “What?”

“Well, I was expecting airplane pilot, or doctor, not…pirate.”

Holmes spun Ms Adler, and looked down into her eyes. “Have you ever seen the sunrise from the middle of the Pacific Ocean?”

“No.”

“It’s breathtaking. Like an impressionist painting come alive,” Holmes explained as he led them across the dance floor, ignoring the furtive glances they were receiving from the other dancers. “You spend your time sailing the seas, discovering new land, like the Galapagos Islands, a beautiful place full of creatures that can be found nowhere else on earth.”

“Aren’t pirates mostly criminals?”

“That depends on the point of view. Robin Hood was considered a thief.” ~~~~

“And that’s what you would do? Steal from the rich, give to the poor?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of showing my older brother I can take care of myself just fine on my own, thank you very much.” Ms Adler laughed, and they locked eyes before Holmes continued. “I just want to be free to live my life as I see fit.” Holmes said sombrely before looking at Ms Adler and smiling. “But I guess I could also help people.”

“I can see the appeal.”

“Fascinating life, really,” he said as if thinking aloud. Holmes smiled to himself and looked over to the musicians on the small stage. The singer reminded him of Watson a bit.

The song ended, and the dancers broke out in applause. Ms Adler put her hand on Holmes’s arm and nodded towards their table. They silently made their way back and signalled for fresh drinks.

“Mr Holmes.”

“Yes, Ms Adler.”

“Were you serious back there? About helping people?”

Holmes felt like this was it, this was the moment he had been working for all night. Ms Adler would finally talk about the plan. He bit back his excitement and made himself look concerned.

“Of course. Why? Is something the matter?”

“Such a knight in shining armour. I’m fine. What I mean is, this.” She waved around the room. “This business, you know it’s not just about talent. It’s also about information and knowing the right people. Sometimes, people do bad things, but what’s considered bad, well, it depends on the point of view.”

“What are you implying? Did someone…” Holmes lowered his voice, “hurt you?”

Ms Adler laughed derisively. “Dear lord, no, none of that. But I appreciate the sentiment. What I’m trying to say is, we’ve all done some crazy things in the name of success. You’re free to do what you want to start in this business. But remember that having friends you can count on to help you is rare and precious. So, if you need anything, come and see me.”

Holmes looked at her hesitantly. The conversation had not taken the turn he had expected. “In exchange for what?”

Ms Adler chuckled. “I’m glad to see you’re not naïve enough to think this would come without ties. I’d expect the same thing in return. If I ever need anything, I can call you. Sort of a ‘I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine’, sort of deal.”

Holmes watched her for a moment and took a chance. “Did you offer this to Anderson?”

Ms Adler scoffed. “Dear God, no. He was repulsive, could not take no for an answer.”

“Like William?”

“Probably, either way, they’re not my type.”

“And what is your type?” Holmes wasn’t particularly interested, but he knew the information could be useful to the case.

Ms Adler eyed him as if she found him adorable. “Mr Holmes, I greatly enjoy your company, and even more working with you.” Ms Adler slid closer, and leaned in. “But…” She whispered in his ear. “I prefer my personal assistant.” She leaned back to watch his reaction.

“Oh.” Holmes was relieved, and a bit disappointed he had missed that about her, but acted surprised. “ _Oh_.”

“You are not my type.” Ms Adler watched at him intensely. “As I am not your type.”

Holmes’s disappointed relief swiftly turned into intense panic. His eyes widened, body frozen into place as he fought to seem relaxed.

Ms Adler continued, “The film community is surprisingly open to that sort of thing, to a lot of things really, as long as it all stays very hush-hush, obviously.”

The information floored Holmes, so much so that he was at a loss as to how to proceed. But he was impressed this woman had managed a relationship with her assistant for what he could only assume was years, and make it work.

He blinked a few more times and said the first thing he could think of. “Does Stamford know?”

“No, just you.” Ms Adler replied softly. “And Ms Kate of course.” She paused, “But I think Ms Hooper suspects,” she said with a wicked smile. “You?”

“No,” Holmes whispered. “Nobody knows.” It wasn’t true. Lestrade knew, but he couldn’t tell her that without blowing his cover. Which led him to doubt the quality of his American persona. He looked at her with worried eyes. “How did you…?”

She sipped her drink. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Holmes shook his head, and was seething inside that he couldn’t tell. Her nonchalant reply didn’t help.

“You never tried to sleep with me.”

Holmes blinked. It had never even occurred to him to try. He slowly understood his mistake, and started laughing that such a small detail almost blew his cover.

“I think it’s perfect for our line of work, it prevents any complications.” She paused, leaned in a bit closer. “And, well, to be honest, it’s nice, not to have to fight you off, all the time.”

Holmes nodded. “I can’t imagine. You do it very elegantly.”

She smiled. “And to be treated like an equal.”

“I’d be an idiot to treat you otherwise.”

Her smile became mischievous. “You certainly would. So, have we got a deal?”

Holmes looked at Ms Adler and found himself enjoying the fact the investigation had taken a turn he couldn’t have predicted. Holmes saw Ms Adler’s instinct for survival with a whole new perspective, including what she had said earlier about helping people. This information could easily be used as blackmail.

There was too much to sort through. Holmes pushed it aside for later.

Instead, he smiled and raised his glass. “Deal.”

They clinked their glasses and drank.

Holmes eyed Ms Adler.

“What?”

Holmes smirked. “You want to go accidently bump into Elizabeth Taylor?”

Ms Adler’s eyes lit up, but she acted calm and composed. “Best idea you’ve had all night.”

**END CHAPTER 6**


	7. Ms Rosie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes jumps to solve a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say this chapter is the beginning of "shit starts to happen", and it won't stop until the end.  
> Enjoy!

**Sunday afternoon – 40 days to the Premiere**

**Stamford’s office**

The afternoon sun was shining through the window, bringing out the auburn hue in Holmes’s dark hair as he looked out onto the street. Stamford was sitting at his desk, reading the paper, when there was a knock on the door.

Ms Hooper walked in, followed by Lestrade and Watson. Stamford stood to greet them, while Holmes merely nodded and continued looking out the window. His detective persona had returned. Watson pursed his lips, grabbed Stamford’s paper, and headed to the couch, while Lestrade sat on the edge of the desk.

“They’re here. Will you finally tell me how your evening with Ms Adler went?” Stamford eagerly asked Holmes.

Lestrade smiled. “Yeah, you two really seemed to hit it off last night.”

Watson straightened the paper vigorously.

Holmes turned towards Stamford. “It was interesting.”

Stamford looked disappointed. “That’s it?”

“I believe Ms Adler’s role in this operation might not be as extensive as I had first theorised.”

“You mean you were wrong,” Lestrade corrected.

“I didn’t say that,” Holmes protested quickly.

“Of course not, you’re too proud to admit it.” Lestrade crossed his arms.

Holmes rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want to cross out the possibility until I had proof to think otherwise.”             

“Like I said, too proud to admit it.”

Holmes ignored Lestrade’s heckling and turned back to Stamford. “I believe her involvement is out of self-preservation rather than personal gain. Her skills in the field, well, the ‘Hollywood field’ are a valuable asset, but she is not the head of this operation.”

“In other words,” Lestrade replied, “You were wrong.”

“That’s not-” Holmes started to protest before cutting himself off. “The important thing is, I gained her trust.”

Stamford looked confused. “But didn’t you say she’d try to get you involved?”

Holmes fiddled with his cuffs. “That’s what I presumed, yes.”

Lestrade smirked. “But that’s not what happened?”

“Not quite.” Holmes crossed his arms and sneered at Lestrade before answering Stamford. “She offered her friendship.”

There was a pause before they heard Watson’s newspaper being lowered. Lestrade, Stamford and Watson eyed one another before turning to Holmes.

“Friendship?” Stamford looked confused.

“Sort of, she didn’t use that terminology, but that would be the best way to describe it.” Holmes offered by way of explanation.

Watson looked unimpressed. Lestrade looked dumbfounded.

“Clever,” Ms Hooper commented, reminding them all she was there. “That way she’s got you as a back-up without creating unnecessary risks for the plan.”

They all stared at her.

She shrunk under their gaze. “Sorry, I’ll just listen now.”

Holmes shook his head. “No, no, that’s… exactly it. Well done.”

Ms Hooper beamed and blushed.

“That reminds me.” Holmes turned to Stamford. “I need to talk to Ms Rosie.”

“The nurse?” Stamford replied.

“Yes, when is she here?”

Stamford turned to Ms Hooper.

She pointed towards her desk on the other side of the door. “I’ll have to check her schedule.”

“Please do.”

Ms Hooper nodded and left the room.

Stamford sighed. “So, what now?”

Holmes looked out the window. “Now we wait.”

“How about we make a movie while we wait?” Stamford joked.

“If only to prevent boredom.” Holmes looked resigned as he grabbed his coat. “And because I signed a contract.”

Lestrade snorted. “Whatever you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Admit it.” Lestrade shook his head. “You’re enjoying this; the attention, bossing people around, the dancing.”

Holmes’s eyes flickered to Watson before answering Lestrade. “I’m on a case that involves certain things that I do enjoy, but I would never choose to be an actor.”

“What?” Stamford exclaimed. “But you’re so good.”

“That may be true, but my talents are wasted as an actor.”

“Even if it makes thousands of people happy?” Stamford argued.

Holmes raised his chin. “I prefer saving lives to entertainment.”

Stamford shook his head. “Shame though, you’re so good. You would have been a natural in a detective story.”

Holmes rolled his eyes as he walked out the door. “Bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

Watson, left alone, paused and stared at nothing as his brain made connections. It didn’t take long before he put the newspaper aside and started looking for a pen and paper on Stamford’s desk. 

* * *

 

**Monday afternoon - Day 6 of Principal Photography - 39 days to the Premiere**

**Sound Stage**

Morgan, Holmes and Ms Adler were in the middle of figuring out a scene, discussing Edward’s entrance. Even though they had rehearsed it, now that they were on set, it didn’t work like it had in rehearsal.

“What if I jumped over the fence?”

Morgan crossed his arms. “Why would you? That’s a very cerulean thing to do, and you’re too crimson for that.”

Holmes fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m too crimson, but not Edward.”

Ms Adler smiled. “He’s got a point.”

“Fine, fine, give it a try,” Morgan muttered, arms raised in defeat.

Holmes smiled triumphantly, making Ms Adler giggle as he took his mark. He did exactly as they had rehearsed, walking over to Jane, but added in a jump over the white picket fence. The overall effect was a bit ridiculous, but endearing, which proved Holmes’s point that it was something Edward would do.

Morgan rolled his eyes. “Fine, just do it more like you’re being parachuted in the Himalayas during a rainy fall afternoon. Now let’s make some magic!”

The first take was perfect, making a few people on set cheer, but they did a second one just in case. As Holmes jumped, his foot caught in the fence and he landed flat on his face. The crew laughed at first, until they realised Holmes had hurt himself. There was a scramble on set as they rushed over to him.

“Holmes! Are you all right?” Ms Adler shouted worriedly, her hands covering her face. She threw herself into the arms of her assistant.

“Holmes!” Morgan cried. “Damnit, I knew you were too crimson for this!”

“Archie go get Ms Rosie!” Ms Hawkins shouted.

Archie ran quickly to the infirmary as Murray helped Holmes sit up on the floor. He had a head wound. Blood ran down the side of his face.

“Easy, easy now. You all right?” Murray asked Holmes gently.

“Yes, yes I’m all right,” he replied feebly, holding his head in his hands.

“Holmes, darling, there’s so much blood!” Ms Adler cried.

“Kitty, get something for the blood,” Murray shouted.

“No! Holmes no! Not again! This can’t be happening again! No no no no no,” Morgan pulled his hair, on the verge of a panic attack.

Archie ran back to them. “Ms Rosie isn’t there.”

“For goodness sake, is she ever in?” Murray shook his head. “Go get Watson!”

Ms Riley arrived with handkerchiefs and a towel and handed them to Murray. Ms Hawkins was now tending to Morgan who looked like he was going into shock.

Murray took no notice of Morgan’s breakdown. “Small, come over here and help me move Holmes to the infirmary.”

Small looked unsure. “Can’t we just lay him on a rolling dolly?”

“I’m fine, I can walk.” Holmes tried to stand and stumbled.

Murray stared at Holmes matter-of-factly then looked up at Small.

“We can use the big dolly?” Small offered.

“Just grab his arm, you lazy bastard,” Murray replied impatiently.

Ten minutes later Holmes was in the infirmary, located in half of a storage room at the far end of the studio, close to an emergency exit. It was mostly composed of a camp bed, a desk and chair, a pharmacy, and a foot lamp. The other half was full of storage racks filled with filing boxes and maintenance supplies.

Holmes was sitting on the bed, still holding the handkerchief against his wound. Lestrade stood guard by the door as they waited for Watson.

“Stop that.”

Lestrade looked over his shoulder. “Stop what? I didn’t say a thing.”

“You’re enjoying this.” Holmes replied with a bit of bite in his tone.

“Enjoying seeing you falling flat on your face you mean?” Lestrade chuckled. “Nah, but I really enjoy seeing Morgan lose it over a little bit of blood. He’s so dramatic, he should be on The Guiding Light.”

“What does that have to do with a lighthouse?”

Holmes was even more confused when he saw Lestrade turn away as he fought off a smile. Before he could ask what was so funny, they heard the rhythmic thud of Watson’s cane coming closer.

Archie appeared in the doorway first. “Watson’s coming.”

“Thanks kid.” Lestrade ruffled his hair and let him run off.

Watson looked agitated when he arrived, his eyes going straight to Holmes. He looked relieved when he saw him sitting on the bed, eyes hidden by the bloody handkerchief.

“You all right?” Lestrade asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I just uh,” Watson clenched his jaw. “Let’s just say I had a bit of a moment when Archie came running into the office.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry mate.” Lestrade said with a weak smile. “Nothing serious, twinkle toes here tripped on his own feet and hit his head.”

Watson nodded, but found that odd, given Holmes’s dancing ability. Watson headed over to the desk and leaned his cane against it. He opened the top right drawer and took out a pair of gloves. He put them on as he turned to Holmes, their eyes meeting for the first time today.

“Right then, let’s have a look,” Watson said with his best soothing Doctor voice.

He limped over to the bed but stayed standing as he reached for the almost completely red handkerchief in Holmes’s right hand. He held it in place while Holmes’s fingers untangled from the bloody folds, their hands inevitably brushing in the process. Slowly, Watson uncovered the wound, making Holmes hiss as it pulled at the coagulating blood. The soiled cloth was discarded quickly, and Watson gently moved Holmes’s head, angling it towards the light. He was so focused on the wound that it took him a moment to notice Holmes staring at him. Watson stared back. His years of medical training had accustomed him to the proximity, but not for the full spectrum of colour in Holmes’s irises.

The sound of Stamford’s approaching voice made Watson blink and pull away.

“So, how is he?” Stamford asked when he appeared in the doorway.

Watson shrugged him off. “I just started.” He angled Holmes’s head once more, making sure not to look him in the eye.

“Well?” Stamford pressed, “How is it?”

Watson rolled his eyes and stubbornly finished inspecting before answering. “Because of the blood, it looks worse than it is.”

“Oh thank God.” Stamford sighed with relief.

“But he’s still going to need some stitches,” Watson finished.

“How long will that take? Can we hide those with make-up?” Stamford asked.

Watson looked disappointed. “Stamford, come on, you know he should wait until the scarring has-”

Stamford cut Watson off, his voice dismissive. “We can’t wait, you know that.”

Watson clenched his jaw and pursed his lips, Stamford crossed his arms. Lestrade and Holmes exchanged a look.

“It’s close enough to the hairline, we can hide it with my hair.” Holmes suggested.

“But then your hair will look different.”

Stamford shook his head. “We can’t reshoot the jump, not after what happened.”

“Hiding the stitches is our best option.” Holmes insisted. “Either we reshoot my entrance without the jump or live with the hair style change in this scene.”

Watson looked at Holmes, irritated by his and Stamford’s recklessness with his health, but admired Holmes’s commitment to the movie.

Watson shook his head. “Do whatever you want, just don’t put make-up on the stitches.”

Stamford wiped his face with his handkerchief. “I’ll go talk to Morgan. Lestrade, you better come too.”

They hurried off, leaving Holmes and Watson alone. ~~~~

They turned to one another and looked away immediately. Watson stepped back and limped over to the pharmacy to get what he needed to clean and stitch up the wound.

Holmes kept his eyes down while Watson gently cleaned the blood off the side of his face. The cloth he was using was rough, but Watson was somehow using it in a way that didn’t irritate the skin. The process was almost soothing, tempting Holmes to close his eyes.

“Move closer to the lamp,” Watson instructed when he was done cleaning, his voice soft.

While Holmes shuffled down the bed to the foot lamp, Watson moved the chair closer to the bed and laid his stitching supplies on it. He stood in front of Holmes and gently tilted his head back before angling the light towards his wound, blinding him in the process.

“Don’t move,” Watson said before Holmes felt his hands disappear from his neck and jaw. “Did you want something for the pain?”

“Will it affect my performance?” Holmes replied, keeping his American accent even though they were alone.

“Depends on your tolerance to drugs.”

Holmes grew silent, and Watson regretted mentioning drugs altogether. He had no idea what he was stepping into with that subject and now wasn’t the right moment to broach it.

“I’m fine,” Holmes said after a beat, his tone neutral.

Kicking himself, Watson focused on the task at hand. He disinfected a needle, threaded it, and looked down at Holmes.

“This will sting.”

Watson took a deep breath before leaning in and pushing the needle into Holmes’s skin. Watson felt him tense under his fingers but didn’t hear a sound. He gently pushed the curved needle through and out, then did the same on the other side of the wound and tied both threads together.

“Ms Rosie was supposed to be here today.” Holmes muttered in his British accent while Watson finished tying the first knot.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I would, I asked Ms Hooper to check her schedule, she should have been here.”

Watson cut the thread and leaned back to look at Holmes. “You didn’t really trip, did you?”

Holmes looked away.

Watson sneered. “You were looking for a reason to interrogate Ms Rosie without it seeming suspicious, weren’t you?”

“Who chose that rug? It’s bloody awful.”

Watson spotted the yellowed floral print rug in front of the storage rack at the other end of the room and shook his head. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

Holmes pursed his lips. “What gave it away?”

“You did.”

Holmes frowned, confused.

“Lestrade said you tripped on your own feet. You’re too good a dancer to do that.”

Holmes’s eyes bore into Watson, as if seeing right through him. “You’re much cleverer than you let on, Doctor Watson.”

Watson fought the slight blush creeping up his neck. He knew better than to think Holmes flirting as actual interest. “Don’t try to distract me with flattery, what were you thinking?” He scolded. “You need stitches, you could even have a concussion, and you’re lucky that’s all you’re walking away with.”

Holmes rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a concussion.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve had one before.”

“Of course you have.” Watson angled Holmes’s head under the light once more.

He was working on the second stitch when Holmes spoke.

“I needed a wound severe enough to see if she really was a trained nurse.”

Watson was torn between screaming at him for his recklessness or bursting out laughing. He had to admit the plan was good, even if it was risky. “You’re a madman.”

“Are you saying what I did was wrong?”

“I’m saying you’re a madman.” Watson tied the two pieces of thread, letting his eyes drift down. “A bloody clever one, but still a madman.”

Holmes smiled then, the small one that made his eyes shine, and Watson pushed down the odd pressure in his chest to focus on his knot.

“Is it the left shoulder?”

Holmes’s voice was low enough for just Watson to hear, making the question almost intimate. Until the meaning behind it made him pause. He leaned back to look at Holmes.

“Sorry, would you prefer I stay quiet while you work? I’m trying to distract myself with deductions so I don’t focus on the pain.”

Watson frowned, hands carefully pulling away the needle from Holmes’s forehead. “Deductions?”

“I already knew you were an invalided soldier, figured out the gunshot wound at the Brown Derby, well, I read it on your lips. Most people would guess you got shot in the leg, but that couldn’t be the case because of how you hold yourself when you aren’t walking. And the fact that you forgot about your cane the other day. With the leg ruled out, I couldn’t figure it out the location until now, having finally spent enough time in the same room as you to notice the intermittent tremor in your left hand, hence my question: is it the left shoulder?”

Watson had been staring for much longer than was considered polite, but that didn’t seem to bother Holmes. He was watching every reaction Watson was having, every muscle in his face, every twitch. The scrutiny was unsettling, but somehow… exciting.

“Lestrade said you were good, but I wasn’t- well I wasn’t expecting- I mean, not that I had any expectations, but that…”

Holmes suddenly had a moment of doubt, second guessing if deducing Watson while he was getting stitches was a good idea.

“… Was incredible.”

It was Holmes’s turn to stare, looking surprised rather than uncomfortable.

“That’s not what most people say.”

Watson scoffed as he resumed the second stitch, finding the conversation absurd but essentially the most interesting he’d had in years. “What do they normally say?”

“Piss off.”

Watson laughed and moved onto the third stitch, making quick work of it. He cleaned, and secured his work, leaned back and slipped off his gloves. Watson looked at Holmes; judging by his frown he was probably in more pain than he was letting on.

“All done.”

Holmes straightened his neck, moved away from the lamp, and blinked until his vision focused.

“Thank you.”

“Just doing my job. Well, my old job.”

“You still could,” Holmes offered.

“No.” Watson’s tone was curt, not angry.

“Why not?”

“Can’t be a surgeon anymore, and treating the flu, well...”

“You’re rather hit your head against the wall repeatedly than be a general practitioner.”

“I was going to say it’s a bit boring, but uh, yeah, that too.”

“Come on, they’re waiting for you out there.”

Holmes looked resigned as he stood.

Watson grabbed his cane but didn’t move. He still couldn’t believe this man was willing to hurt himself to pursue the investigation. Even though they had gotten off on the wrong foot, Watson was starting to understand why Lestrade trusted him.

He side-eyed Holmes but looked at the floor as he spoke. “Thank you. For this, the movie. Replacing Anderson.”

 “Let’s just say this is me trying not to be bored.” Holmes replied with his American accent and winked.

He straightened his shoulders and stepped aside so Watson could lead the way out.

Watson smiled and shook his head as he limped past Holmes. “I’ll look at it again after filming.” He warned as they walked out of the infirmary.

Holmes nodded and winced.

“I can get you something for the pain too.”

“There he is.” They heard Ms Hawkins’s voice from across the studio.

Immediately Ms Adler and Morgan turned, both their faces twisted in worry before they ran to Holmes.

“I’m so relieved, my poor dear,” Ms Adler cooed as she gently caressed his face.

“This is the last time I let you jump over anything ever again, you understand me?” Morgan chastised him.

“Ever again,” Ms Adler repeated.

“I promise,” Holmes replied, watching them through his eyelashes.

Morgan’s anger melted away. “Come on, let’s go fix your hair.”

Ms Adler kept looking at the stitches. “Did it hurt?”

“It was nothing,” Holmes lied, the stitches stinging constantly.

Watson spent the rest of the afternoon on set, keeping Holmes under observation. He preferred not to take any risks, not at the point they were in the production. He wandered around, chatting with Angelo, then settled next to Lestrade, keeping each other company as they watched the room.

It seemed Holmes was doing the same, Watson noted, smirking to himself. Holmes kept looking over to Moran, who was currently loading a few set pieces that needed maintenance into his truck. He was currently securing the load with rope, but Watson couldn’t figure out what had caught Holmes’s attention without asking him directly.

Watson was also keeping an eye on Murray. He’d always like Murray, always trying to get a laugh out of everyone, keeping the mood on set fun.

Murray was currently holding a tennis ball in his hand and fake throwing it to Small, who wasn’t moving, but blinked every time Murray did it. It didn’t prevent Small from doing his job, but annoyed him enough to drive him crazy. Watson was curious to see the outcome.

The game between Murray and Small lasted until a break was called; Small instantly lunged at Murray and wrestled the tennis ball out of his hand and walked away. Murray was left there complaining as the rest of the crew laughed.

Once Ms Hawkins called a wrap, Watson slowly made his way to the infirmary to get supplies to clean and bandage Holmes’s stitches. He was not expecting to find Small going through the pharmacy.

“Everything all right?” Watson said calmly.

Small spun quickly, eyes wide. “Hm? Oh, yeah, fine, just needed... uh, a band-aid for my… papercut.”

Watson pointed to the medical kit on the desk. “Band-aids are in there.”

“Oh, right, thanks.”

Watson watched Small struggle to open the kit, and clumsily sort through it to find a band-aid. With another brief exchange of looks between them, Small turn and walked out.

Watson waited until he was far enough away to quickly search the room, trying to figure out what Small had really been looking for. He didn’t find anything suspicious, but quickly grabbed what he came for and went to find Holmes.

He was chatting with Ms Adler in front of their dressing rooms.

“Watson,” Ms Adler said when Watson arrived.

“Ms Adler.” He nodded back.

“Take good care of him,” she replied and winked at Holmes before heading into her dressing room.

Watson frowned, confused by what Ms Adler could mean by that, and followed Holmes inside his dressing room.

Holmes took off his jacket and stretched, hands almost touching the ceiling. After a breath he let his arms spread wide, making the buttons of his shirt threaten to pop. Watson leaned against the closed the door and watched Holmes’s lean form arch and stretch. the sight making him forget what he wanted to tell Holmes.

“Oh. I just caught Small scavenging the infirmary.”

Holmes dropped his arms and spun towards Watson. “What was he looking for?”

Watson smirked but spoke quickly. “A band-aid for his papercut, an obvious lie. I searched the room and came up empty handed.”

Holmes grabbed his jacket and headed to the door.

Watson, still leaning against the door, looked up when Holmes stopped in front of him, confused. “And where are you going?”

Watson had had enough experience with reckless soldiers who didn’t care about getting their wounds treated, eager to head back out in the field. A detective-come-actor didn’t worry him.

“The infirmary, obviously.”

“No.”

Holmes frowned, then looked amused. “No?”

“Stitches first.”

“After,” Holmes replied as if he were speaking to a child and attempted to push Watson aside.

Since Watson was holding medical supplies against his chest with one hand and his cane in the other, Holmes did not expect any resistance. So, it was a bit of a surprise when Watson switched the grip on his cane and wrangled Holmes backwards with it. After a few steps, the back of his knees hit the chair in front of the mirror.

Watson lowered his cane. “Sit.”

Holmes instantly obeyed, and stared up at Watson, a mixture of confusion and surprise, not quite understanding what had happened.

“Stay.” Watson put down the medical supplies on the counter in front of the mirror.

Holmes continued staring at him in the mirror as a slight flush creeped up his neck. Watson hadn’t raised his voice, barely used any force, he had simply _commanded_. Holmes had found it fascinating, coming from such an unassuming man. The more he learned about Watson the more interesting he became, which was something rare and alluring for Holmes.

“How’s the pain?”

“Fine.”

Watson looked over his shoulder. “Are you worried I won’t let you go to the infirmary if you’ve taken something?”

Holmes paused. “Maybe.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how’s the pain? Don’t lie.”

Holmes looked to the side. “Six.”

Watson couldn’t tell if he was lying, just handed him two pills. “Here’s something mild for now. I’ll get you something stronger to help you sleep.”

Holmes swallowed the pills without water while Watson put on gloves. He then moved to stand behind Holmes so he wouldn’t block the light coming from the fixtures around the mirror. He tilted Holmes’s head back a little, and gently brushed his hair off the stitches.

Holmes’s eyes closed as he did. It felt destabilizing, getting manhandled into a chair, shortly followed by a gentle touch. He simply wasn’t expecting this much kindness from Watson, even if it was arguably his job.

As Watson worked, Holmes found himself relaxing. Being taken care of was oddly… soothing. It felt like there was more to it, only Holmes couldn’t quite say what.

After cleaning and disinfecting, Watson cut a gauze piece and tape to bandage the stitches. Holmes’s reflection caught his eye, specifically the stretch of his neck as he stayed leaned back. Watson felt conflicted by the sight of it, because Holmes didn’t have to close his eyes. If he had kept them open, he would have straightened while Watson prepared the bandage. But Holmes had closed his eyes and stayed exactly as Watson had instructed him. It was odd, and a bit unnerving to have Holmes offer his trust so… willingly.

Bandage in hand, Watson moved back behind Holmes and let himself indulge. He used their reflection to imagine what they would look like together. He fought the building fantasy of what could happen in the small dressing room. Tried not to focus on how easy it would be -- so easy -- to lock the door. Bandage in hand, he willed himself to focus on his task, but when he looked down at Holmes, Watson had to fight the urge to slide his fingers along the skin of his neck, lean down and kiss him.

Watson’s eyes widened. He’d never fantasised about kissing a man. He’d thought about doing many sinful things to a man, but not kissing. In fact, Watson hadn’t fantasised about a man since his first year after being discharged, back when he was still in London. It had been an easy itch to scratch in the army. Quick, discreet, no strings attached. Because that’s all it was, a bit of fun.

But once back home, it was hard getting adjusted to civilian life. Especially for a cripple. Finding a job was rare, a girl even more, so never mind trying to find a bloke willing to share a handjob in an alley. Not to mention how much more dangerous it was than in the army. It took Watson a few punches before abandoning altogether.

But now, in Holmes’s dressing room, alone, all he needed to do was lock the door, lean down…

The overwhelming strength of his arousal made Watson instantly regret imagining such things in Holmes’s presence. Watson took a deep breath, held it in five seconds as he stared at the ceiling then gently blew it out. When he looked down he lost his breath. Holmes had opened his eyes. His pupils were dilated as he watched Watson lazily.

“Everything all right?”

“Fine.”

Watson put the bandage on, gently smoothed the tape into place and took a step back.

“Done.”

Watson watched Holmes straighten his neck, and their eyes met in the mirror. Watson didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t take his eyes off Holmes. He felt frozen into place and about to fall at the same time.

“Can we go search the infirmary now?”

Holmes’s low voice almost made Watson jump, caught having personal thoughts and worried Holmes had somehow heard them. He was surprised to be included in Holmes’s search of the infirmary. It was quite a change from Holmes’s initial dismissal.

“Yeah.” Watson croaked and cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t you change out of your costume?”

“No time.”

“All right, just let me get this.” Watson cleaned up the supplies on the counter.

Holmes put on his jacket, fixed his hair in the mirror, trying to get it to relax and curl a bit so he could comb it back with a bit of a wave rather than straight back. Once he was ready, Holmes opened the door for Watson. Watson grabbed his cane and limped past Holmes, forcing himself to look straight ahead.

Most of the crew had already left when they came out of Holmes’s dressing room. They would continue filming in the same set the next day, so there hadn’t been much to wrap up. Lestrade was halfway through his round to close the set, which meant he was on the opposite side of the studio when Holmes and Watson saw Small come out of the infirmary.

There was a brief pause when Small saw them, eyes wide, before he turned to walk away. Without a word, Holmes and Watson followed him.

“I can’t blow my cover, you have to interrogate him,” was all Holmes had time to say before Small looked over his shoulder, saw them following him and started running towards the emergency exit.

They pursued him, not noticing Watson’s cane dropping to the floor in the process.

Once outside, Small hesitated too long before deciding which way to go. He barely made it fifteen feet before Holmes tackled him, grabbing hold of his legs. With a shout, Small landed hard on the pavement, wrestling against Holmes before Watson arrived and restrained his arms.

“Let me go!” Small struggled.

“Why did you run?” Watson asked, keeping his head angled away as Small struggled, attempting to punch him.

“I wasn’t running.”

Watson tightened his grip, twisting Small’s arm painfully. “Bullshit. What were you doing in there?”

Small bit back a moan of pain. “Nothing.”

“Tell me, and we’ll let you go.”

Small clenched his jaw before accepting it was useless to keep fighting.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Watson rolled his eyes. “Then why were you running away?”

“Because you were chasing me.”

“I started chasing you _because_ you started running.”

“Why were you following me then?”

“Because I saw you in the infirmary for the second time today and wanted to talk to you about that.”

Small opened his mouth to talk.

“If you’re about to give me the papercut excuse again, this will not end well for you,” Watson warned.

Small sighed. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Watson released his grip and signalled for Holmes to do the same. Together, they got Small to his feet. Watson crowded him against the brick wall while Holmes kept guard.

“I just want to talk,” Watson repeated.

Small rubbed his shoulder. “I can’t lose this job.”

“You won’t, if you tell me what you were doing in there?”

Holmes turned enough to be able to watch them while keeping a lookout.

“I was…” Small scratched his forearm. “I was looking for a fix, okay?”

“And you thought you could find drugs in the infirmary?” Watson asked calmly.

“Yeah.”

“Is that where you normally get drugs?”

Small shrugged.

“Tell me.”

Small looked at the ground.

“Hey.” Watson slapped Small on the side of the head. “I said tell me.”

Holmes turned then but did not intervene.

“I don’t-”

“Come on Small, be smart.” Watson edged.

Small paused, looked to his right. “Moran.”

“Liar,” Holmes said immediately.

Watson looked at Small expectantly.

“Wiggins.”

Holmes shook his head.

Watson turned to Small. “Lie again and see what happens.”

“Look it’s not… You won’t believe me.”

Watson crossed his arms. “Try me.”

“Ms Rosie.”

“Oh.” Watson said softly and turned to look at Holmes.

Holmes’s eyes were wide, looking like he was thinking a mile a minute.

Watson turned back to Small. “Have you seen Ms Rosie since the accident?”

“No.” Small scratched his forearm again and shifted his weight.

“If you see her, come tell me.”

“I-I…” Small shook his head, looking scared.

“I’m a man of my word Small. You answered my questions, so you’re not going to lose your job.” Watson put his hand on Small’s shoulder, as if to pat him on the back. But instead, Watson gripped his coat and pulled him close. “I just want to know what’s going on, you know? You get that, don’t you?”

Small nodded. 

“I don’t want to get you in any trouble, not if I don’t have to,” Watson continued. “Holmes won’t say anything, he knows how this works. This stays between us, okay? You go about your business, we’ll stay out of your way.”

Small nodded, looking relieved.

“But,” Watson warned, “if you hear or see anything I should know, you give me a call, okay?” He pulled back, let go of Small’s coat, smoothed it back into place and smiled. “Anything, anything at all, you call me.”

Small nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Here.” Holmes handed Small a wad of folded bills. “For your troubles.”

Small stared at Holmes as he pocketed the money.

“See you tomorrow, then.” Watson replied, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah. See you.”

They watched him walk out of the alley, hesitating before turning left. He took one last look at Holmes and Watson before disappearing around the corner.

Watson let himself lean against the brick wall next to Holmes.

“What the hell just happened?”

“I believe you just dropped your cane to run after and interrogate a drug addict in need of a fix,” Homes replied.

Watson looked down at his leg. “That’s the second time.”

Holmes shrugged. “At least you aren’t angry with me this time.”

“But Ms Riley is going to have a fit, look at your costume.”

Holmes looked down and saw the holes and scuff marks on both his knees. He turned to Watson and when their eyes met they burst out laughing.

Watson still couldn’t quite believe how far they had come from the first time they had met. He certainly wouldn’t have expected to find himself laughing to tears with Holmes in the alley. Watson was mostly surprised he enjoyed spending time with Holmes. But that didn’t prevent his brain from imagining every possible scenario that would lead to Holmes giving him a blowjob in the alley. Or back in his dressing room, reflected in those large mirrors.

The sound of a car driving by popped them out of their bubble. Watson looked uncomfortable then, turning away from the street.

Holmes pushed himself off the wall. “Come on.” He led the way back inside.

They traced back their steps into the studio, only to find Watson’s cane was gone.

“Lestrade probably found it during his round and brought it upstairs,” Watson said, and they continued tracing their steps all the way back to the infirmary.

Holmes paused when he stepped inside the room and looked around. “It’s probably useless but might as well take a look.”

He headed to the pharmacy to inspect its contents. Watson hesitated a bit before moving to the desk and searching it for the second time today.

They heard footsteps coming and looked up just in time to see Lestrade arrive.

“There you are,” Lestrade said to them then spoke to Watson, eyeing his legs. “Found your cane on the ground, it’s upstairs, but is everything all right?”

“Yeah, um,” Watson started, scratching the back of his head.

“We caught Small searching the infirmary and just chased him into the alley,” Holmes explained as he closed the pharmacy and turned to Lestrade, who eyed the holes on his knees with a frown.

“And you caught him?” Lestrade pointed to Holmes trousers.

“We did,” Holmes confirmed. “He said Ms Rosie is a drug dealer.”

Lestrade turned to Watson, who confirmed with a nod.

“Shit.”

“And most likely Anderson’s murderer,” Holmes continued. “We need go to her house. Now.”

Lestrade nodded. “I’ll go finish closing up. Meet you upstairs.”

* * *

 

They abandoned their search of the infirmary, and after Holmes changed out of his costume they headed to Stamford’s office. They found Ms Rosie’s address in the accounting books and didn’t have to wait long for Lestrade to join them.

They took Lestrade’s car with Watson as shotgun, and Holmes in the back, mumbling to himself. Lestrade slowed down when they turned onto the street, only the numbers on the houses were nowhere near the address they had. They reached the end of the street and decided to turn around to drive by the houses once more, try and see if there was anything that look out of place.

By the time they reached the other end of the street, they only had one conclusion left: Ms Rosie had given them a fake address.

**END CHAPTER 7**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to Zala and Kira for this chapter. It wouldn't have gone the same without you guys. All the love and hugs.  
> And thank you to the ever wonderful May-shepard for the chapter summary.


	8. FHC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Holmes's jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one, but a fun one. I had to rewrite it twice, but it was worth it.

 

**Thursday – Day 9 of Principal Photography - 36 days to the Premiere**

_“What brought you to Neuville?” Jane asked Edward as they strolled down the sidewalk._

_“My buddy Marty from, uh, back home. He told me about this place.”_

_“Oh.” Jane looked at her feet._

_Edward kept his eyes on her. “I’m glad he did.”_

_Jane looked up and blushed as their eyes met. They walked a few moments silently._

_“Any luck with the job search?” Jane asked._

_Edward rubbed the back of his neck. “Not yet, but I’m keeping my hopes up.”_

_“I’m sure you’ll find something.”_

_“I already did.”_

_Jane looked up at Edward, surprised._

_Edward smiled at her. “Just not what I was looking for.”_

“Cut!”

The morning had gone well, but it seemed Morgan’s mood had quickly deteriorated after the lunch break. Tantrums were so common with Anderson that it was odd it hadn’t happened once since Holmes had replaced him.

Ms Adler turned to Morgan with her hands on her hips, clearly used to dealing with him in this state. “What is it, darling?”

“Don’t darling me. You’re a mess.”

There was a deafening silence on set as Ms Adler’s rearranged her hands on her hips.

“Excuse me?” she replied warningly.

“You heard me. You are a mess.” Morgan replied, isolating each word for emphasis.

Everyone held their breath; this was unchartered territory, having the two biggest stars on set face off.

“What can we do better?” Holmes offered, trying his best to keep the situation under control while staying in character.

Morgan slowly turned to Holmes.

“Do better? Do better?” Morgan’s incredulous stare slowly morphed into a wide grin as he started laughing uncontrollably.

“What the hell is going on?” Ms Adler said loud enough for Holmes to hear.

Holmes fought not to turn to her, fought not to let his concern show. He had assumed this was an act, but if even Ms Adler had no idea what was going on and did not seem to be lying, things could take a turn for the worst. Namely another deadly ‘accident’ on set.

Watson, who had been watching Small all morning, came closer to the set, making his way over to Lestrade to watch what was unfolding.

Morgan’s laughter died down as he jumped to his feet and started pacing, or rather started walking along the edge of the set, as if circling his prey. Ms Hawkins looked lost as well, keeping a close eye on Morgan, waiting for whatever cue she might get.

Morgan suddenly turned to his right, walking towards Holmes and Ms Adler who were still standing on the sidewalk of the street set.

“What are you supposed to be doing right now?” he asked Ms Adler.

“Walking with Edward,” she replied patiently.

Morgan threw his arms up in the air. “See! You don’t even know what you’re doing!”

“I don’t understand,” Ms Adler replied calmly.

Morgan scoffed. “Well isn’t that the understatement of the year.”

“Morgan,” she said sharply, insulted.

“Edward is supposed to walk with you!” Morgan’s shout wasn’t that loud, but the intensity in his delivery made Ms Adler take a step back and Holmes take a step forward.

“You are supposed to have the power here,” Morgan continued with a vicious tone. “You’re guiding him, showing him where to go and where not to go. This should be obvious to you. I’m disappointed Ms Adler, very disappointed.”

Morgan continued staring at her a moment longer before spinning around to face the crew, who, for once, were not amused by the situation.

“Again!”

Morgan’s shout snapped everyone into movement, and there was a flurry of action as everyone prepared for another take.

Holmes turned to Ms Adler. “Are you all right?”

She raised her chin. “Of course,” she said, and made her way back to her mark.

Holmes followed her lead, acting as if Morgan hadn’t just humiliated her in front of everyone.

Morgan grabbed Ms Hawkins’s bullhorn. “And try to act this time.”

Holmes didn’t need to look at Ms Adler to know she was suppressing anger.

“Action!”

_“What brought you to Neuville?”_

_“My buddy Marty from, um, back home. He told me about it.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“I’m glad he did.”_

“Cut!” Morgan cut in with the bullhorn, addressing Ms Adler once more. “You do realise you can’t just rely on your looks, right? Looks don’t act, toots.”

There was a collective gasp from the crew. Holmes looked from Ms Adler to Ms Hawkins to Lestrade, unsure if he should intervene, when Watson cut in.

“If you could manage to pull your head out of your arse and give her some bloody direction,” Watson taunted, accompanied by the sound of his cane hitting the floor harder than necessary. “She could act out whatever shit idea you have.”

Morgan turned the full force of his tantrum to Watson. “Unless you have a finale in your hands, I don’t want to see you on my set.”

“It’s not _your_ set.” Watson seemed to relish challenging Morgan.

“Come on Watson,” Morgan smirked. “Stop trying to push, you know I won’t fight a cripple.”

The was a second collective gasp, quickly followed by Lestrade stepping in.

“Morgan, Watson, enough!” Lestrade’s years of experience in Scotland Yard showed in his commanding voice.

Morgan rolled his eyes. “Oh look, it’s the watchdog. Did the watchdog want a wittle treat?”

Lestrade blinked, stunned by Morgan’s response. Lestrade had only gotten that kind of reaction from teenagers, he wasn’t expecting it from Morgan.

Everything was cut short when Archie pushed through the studio door, followed by Stamford and Ms Hooper.

“What’s going on?” Stamford asked with a no-nonsense tone.

“Do you mean Morgan’s verbal abuse to Ms Adler, his petty attempt to insult me, or his blatant disrespect towards Lestrade?” Watson replied to Stamford but kept his eyes on Morgan.

“How do you expect me to work in these conditions?” Morgan waved his hand in all directions. “I try and shake my actors a little so they can do their best and not be lazy.” He pointed to Ms Adler before turning to Stamford, “and everyone gets involved.”

“I’ll shake you a little and see what falls out,” Ms Adler replied under her breath, loud enough for only Holmes to hear.

“She was perfect, she didn’t deserve any of that,” Watson argued.

“Enough,” Stamford ordered before the conversation deteriorated any further.

Stamford clenched his jaw as he looked from Ms Adler and Holmes, huddled together on the far end of the set, to Watson, Lestrade and Morgan, who was still holding the bullhorn, standing by the camera. Ms Hawkins was not far behind, as the rest of the crew watched them, unsure what to do or say.

“Ms Hawkins, please call a break,” Stamford instructed.

Without bothering to retrieve the bullhorn from Morgan, Ms Hawkins clapped her hands twice and shouted, “Twenty minutes people! Clear the set!”

The crew scattered, including Holmes and Ms Adler retreating to their respective dressing rooms.

“You too Watson,” Stamford added.

Watson huffed but left without a word, going back to keeping an eye on Small, which he had been doing all morning.

The only people left on set were Stamford, Lestrade, Morgan, Ms Hawkins, and Ms Hooper.

Stamford started. “What happened?”

“Ms Adler was subpar, I was giving her tough love.” Morgan explained calmly.

Stamford turned to Lestrade, who crossed his arms. “Sort of looked like you were mad at her, there.”

“Of course I’m mad, she’s wasting my time! And now yours!” Morgan stomped his feet on the ground for emphasis. “With her experience, her co-star shouldn’t be outshining her.”

“Have you tried being nice?” Stamford offered with a smile.

Morgan stared at him with a bored face. “That’s not how I work.”

“Okay,” Stamford paused. “Could you talk to her first, before shouting at her in front of the whole crew?”

Morgan rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll try.”

They went their separate ways for the remainder of the break. Lestrade went back to his guard post. Morgan went to his chair and moped while Ms Hawkins fetched him coffee. Stamford and Ms Hooper headed over to Ms Adler’s dressing room.

Ms Kate answered.

“May I come in?” Stamford asked.

Ms Kate signalled to wait and closed the door. It opened about a minute later.

“Stamford, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Ms Adler was lounging in the large armchair she had insisted on fitting into her tiny dressing room.

“Sorry to bother you. I’m here to apologise for Morgan’s behaviour. It was unacceptable.”

Ms Adler smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “Thank you Stamford, that is very gracious of you, but there is no need. I knew what I was getting into by working with Morgan.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Stamford nodded, clasping his hands in front of him, but looked uncomfortable. “To be quite honest, I’m rather starting to wonder if hiring him was a good idea. I know it’s your first time working with him as well, and I was expecting… well, not this. I swear, every time he pulls something like this I wonder if he’s trying to tank this movie on purpose.”

Ms Hooper caught herself staring at Stamford, surprised he would admit something of the sort to Ms Adler. She eyed Ms Adler quickly. As always, she kept her thoughts well hidden. When Ms Hooper then turned to Ms Kate, she was surprised to find her staring back with an amused smile. Ms Hooper looked away and wished she didn’t blush so easily.

“I’m sorry you feel that way Stamford,” Ms Adler replied. “But I can take care of myself. You should worry about Holmes.”

Stamford nodded. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to it then. Just don’t hesitate to come and see me if there’s anything.”

“Will do. Thank you Stamford,” she replied as he left.

Ms Hooper nodded to Ms Adler and to Ms Kate. The later winked back, making Ms Hooper blush before disappearing behind the door.

When the break ended, everyone went back to work, and as true professionals, they all acted as if nothing had happened.

* * *

 

The day ended a bit later than usual because they needed to finish filming all of the scenes in the street set before it was taken down to install the casino set.

It was almost seven thirty when Ms Hawkins raised the bullhorn. “Thank you everyone, that’s a wrap for today. Set change will begin in fifteen minutes.”

Ms Adler grabbed Holmes’s arm, making it clear to follow her lead.

“Try to seduce me.”

Holmes gazed down at her intensely. “You were marvellous today.”

“Obviously.”

“Such a professional.”

“Mhm keep going.”

“Do you want me to ask you out?”

Ms Adler chuckled. “Don’t be silly, just make it look like you’re after me.”

As they arrived in front of their dressing room doors, Holmes spotted Watson out of the corner of his eye and tried not to smirk. He then turned to Ms Adler, keeping hold of her hand and he gazed down at her lovingly. She smiled up at Holmes wickedly.

“I’m going to whisper something in your ear, and you have to promise to keep looking like we’re flirting,” Ms Adler said in a low voice.

Holmes bit his lip and nodded.

She leaned in close. “Call this a favour you’ll thank me for later.” She paused, letting the implication of her statement sink in before adding, “Follow Moran.”

Holmes was grateful for her warning, but still had to fight very hard not to let surprise replace the seductive look on his face. Either Small had spilled the beans about what had happened yesterday, or they were seen.

“I owe you one.”

“You most certainly do.” She winked and disappeared into her dressing room.

Holmes stood there long enough to make the crew think he had just been shot down, or led on, or whatever they would think of to explain their scenario, it didn’t matter. Holmes raised his chin, smoothed his suit, and slipped into his own dressing room.

He needed to think.

He took off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt as he paced the room.  He was going over what Ms Adler had just said when there was a knock on the door.

Holmes knew who it was. “Come in,” he called and pulled off his shirt.

Watson came in, his eyes widening a bit at the sight of a half-dressed Holmes. “Sorry, I can come back.”

“No, it’s fine.” Holmes wiped himself down with a towel before putting on another shirt.

“I, uh,” Watson cleared his throat. “I tailed Small all day-”

“Yes, I noticed. Everyone noticed,” Holmes warned as he took off his shoes. “You should work on that.”

“Erm, okay, but what I meant to say is-”

“We should follow Moran.” Holmes cut in as he grabbed another pair of trousers and laid them on the back of a chair.

Watson blinked rapidly before taking a step forward. “How did you-?”

“Ms Adler.”

“What?”

“Ms Adler told me to follow Moran.” Holmes explained as he started to unbutton his trousers.

Watson shook his head. “You mean just now?” He pointed towards the door.

“Yes.”

“Oh. I thought you were…”

Holmes dropped his trousers and stepped out of them. “Flirting?”

Watson managed to make a half nod, half shrug movement.

Holmes grabbed the other pair of trousers and put them on. “Well, that was rather the point.”

Watson pursed his lips, seeming a bit confused. “So, you and Ms Adler…”

Holmes pushed his shirt into his trousers before buttoning them. “Were you planning on finishing that sentence?”

Watson opened his mouth a few times. “You seemed… close.”

Holmes squinted at Watson. “We work together.” He turned and sat in front of the mirror to fix his hair. Even with a few weeks of practice, Holmes still thought it was a tedious process to go from straight slicked back to natural waves. He preferred his natural curls but that would require washing his hair. “So what led you to think we should follow Moran?”

“Oh, I uh,” The question made Watson shake himself, finding it ridiculous how he couldn’t stop staring at Holmes. “I saw Small talk to him and when they noticed me-”

“Told you.”

Watson rolled his eyes. “Small started acting all suspicious and left quickly, I figured it would be worth checking into Moran.”

Holmes was about to answer when there was another knock on the door. They frowned at one another, but before they could do anything, the door opened and in walked Morgan.

“What are you doing here?” Morgan asked as soon as he saw Watson.

“He’s checking up on my stitches,” Holmes replied immediately.

“Making sure you didn’t botch the job?” Morgan told Watson.

“No. No fighting in my dressing room.” Holmes pointed to the door. “Out, out, the both of you.”

Watson looked annoyed. “But your stitches-”

“No, no,” Morgan raised his arms in surrender. “It’s okay, I won’t stay.” He turned to Holmes. “I just wanted to say I appreciated your professionalism today, and the more I see your work, the more I’m interested in working together again.”

Holmes seemed deeply moved. “Morgan, I-I-”

“Depending how this all turns out, obviously.” Morgan chuckled.

Holmes chuckled with him. “Obviously.”

“Have a good rest now.” Morgan opened the door. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“You too.” Holmes smiled warmly. “Thanks again.”

As soon as the door closed behind Morgan, Holmes rolled his eyes, and slouched like a four-year-old. Somehow Watson found that endearing.

“Keeping up this act is so tedious sometimes. Morgan was impossible today. At least now I know why.”

Watson repeated Holmes statement in his head before frowning. “You know what now?”

“I know why Morgan had a tantrum today.”

“Why?”

“Because of Small,” Holmes replied matter-of-factly as he continued fixing his hair.

Watson sighed. “I’m going to need a bit more than that.”

Holmes finished doing what looked like a complicated eye-hand-comb coordination and making sure it held in place before catching Watson’s eye in the mirror. “Morgan learned we got to Small during lunch. Whatever problems we may have caused by doing this, Ms Alder payed for it, whether or not it was her fault.”

“But why did she tell you?”

“Because I was with you when you interrogated Small, she must think I’m part of some kind of internal drugs bust and thought of me as a messenger. But I’m more interested in _why_ she told me.”

“Which is?”

“Morgan’s public humiliation told us more about their hierarchy. This confirms my theory that Ms Alder was part of the plan as help, valuable help, and by humiliating her, Morgan lost her loyalty.”

“Losing loyalty is one thing. Why would she willingly give us a clue?”

Holmes smiled to himself. “I have a few theories, but I believe what you said to defend her from Morgan may have played in our favour.”

Watson thought back to how he had started insulting Morgan to get his attention away from Ms Adler. He had used that tactic often when he was young, to protect his sister. Now, Watson had just been trying to protect her, protect everyone. It was easier if he was the victim of Morgan’s assault. He knew he could take it. Watson didn’t care what that wanker thought of him. He did however, care that Morgan might be behind all of this. He was the one upsetting Stamford and risking all their jobs.

“Come on,” Holmes said as he straightened, his hair combed back with waves that made him look so elegant Watson’s breath caught. “Let’s go find Moran, I can give you a few pointers on tailing without being seen.”

Holmes was about to walk past Watson when a hand lay flat on his chest, forcing him to stop. 

“Still haven’t checked your stitches.”

“But I just finished my hair.”

Watson pushed him back until the back of Holmes’s knees hit the chair and made him sit heavily.

“I’ll be careful.”

“No you won’t.”

“No I won’t.”

* * *

 

When they stepped out of Holmes’s dressing room, they saw the crew had been split into two teams; the first one was taking down the street set, stacking the pieces over by the loading dock, while the second team unloaded the casino set from the truck.

Holmes checked his watch. “How long were we in there?”

“This is their third time doing it. They’ve gotten really good at it.” Watson smiled as he watched the crew move like an ant farm. “But you did spend a lot of time fixing your hair.”

“I’m usually already gone before the set changes,” Holmes said offhandedly but looked very interested in the crew’s methods.

“The novelty has worn off for me, but I used to love watching them.” Watson looked around the room, smiling to himself.

“Come on.” Holmes started walking towards the exit, without looking back to see if Watson was following.

He was through the door and walking down the long corridor when Watson caught up.

“Where are you going?”

“Office.”

“Why?”

“I need an address.”

“Of?”

“Where Moran is taking the truck.”

“You know where to find that address in the office?”

“I don’t, but you do.”

* * *

 

“Stop at the next corner,” Holmes instructed the cab driver.

The street was deserted and dark, except for a light post every now and then. The cab slowed at the corner and dropped them off before driving off into the night. This was an industrial area, so every building up and down the street was a company, mostly manufacturing, which meant everything was empty. Everyone had gone home for the night, which meant Holmes and Watson could walk freely in the streets without being seen. But they kept to the shadows as a precaution.

The night was calm, except for the sound of their footsteps as they walked the last two blocks. Watson was grateful he now had the option to leave his cane behind. It was odd, but it was thrilling to be able to walk freely again.

As the building came into view, they slowed. The beige brick facade had one window on either side of the main entrance. There was an entrance to a wood yard that was closed off with a wood fence to the right, about half as wide as the building, secured with a chain and lock. Yet something was off. Watson fished the address out of his pocket, reread the numbers, and looked up. They matched exactly, but the sign above the door didn’t say Sets & Co., it read FHC.

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

Holmes voice snapped Watson out of his stupor. “What is?”

“Ms Rosie’s fake address, and now a fake company name.”

Watson stared at Holmes a moment. He had his hands in his coat pockets and was looking at the building. His face was barely lit, but his eyes caught the light, making them shine in the night. It would make Holmes seem mysterious if he didn’t look like a child in a candy store.

Watson felt grateful to help with the case, but even more for the chance to experience it through Holmes’s eyes. He was seeing Hollywood through a new lens and was excited to see where it would lead them.

“What does FHC stand for?” The words came out breathier than Watson expected.

Holmes turned to him. “No idea.”

Watson could have sworn he saw something wicked appear in his eyes.

“Let’s go find out, shall we?” Holmes crossed the street.

“Wait, Holmes, stop.”

Holmes was already picking the lock when Watson caught up.

“We should wait for Lestrade.”

“He’s busy with the set change, he’ll catch up with us after. And he would agree this is a perfect chance to get information.”

“By breaking in?”

There was a click before Holmes pulled and the lock came undone. He looked at Watson with a satisfied smile and pushed one of the large wooden doors open enough to slip in.

Holmes raised his eyebrows, silently asking if he wanted to follow.

Watson stared back. This was absolutely not what he was expecting. Then again, he had no idea what to expect of Holmes in this scenario. Watson had spent more time seeing Holmes in his actor persona than as himself, and almost exclusively at the studio, in Watson’s world. Now it was his turn to experience Holmes’s world: his work, his methods. It felt reckless, irresponsible, and a little mad. Watson had no idea what he was really getting himself into. Yet he couldn’t deny how his heart was beating hard against his chest, how every one of his senses were on full alert or how a steady control took over him.

This was probably a terrible idea. But did he want to follow? _Oh God yes_.

Watson licked his lips. “Somebody has keep an eye on you.” He slipped past Holmes to walk in.

With a pleased look in his eye, Holmes closed the door behind them. “You shouldn’t listen to everything Lestrade says.”

“You mean you didn’t meet while you were high in an opium den?”

Holmes rolled his eyes. “I was undercover.”

The courtyard was much wider than Watson expected, because the building was L shaped. The shorter end of the L was the office area, from what they could tell through the windows. The long end of the L was the factory, complete with loading dock doors at the far end. The courtyard served as a wood storage area and a parking area for three trucks, where two were currently parked.

“At least this really is a carpentry shop,” Watson whispered.

Holmes walked silently, almost cat-like, along the fence towards the trucks.

Watson followed but looked over his shoulder toward the road. “Moran is going to be back any minute now.”

Holmes stopped in front of them and looked from one truck to the other. “The motor should announce his arrival. We’ll have plenty of time to hide.”

Watson shook his head. He couldn’t understand how someone so careless could end up working with Scotland Yard. He was starting to understand why Lestrade thought someone should keep an eye on him.

“Did you really uncover and stop a human trafficking ring? On your own?”

“I appreciate your interest in my work, but maybe try to focus on this case at the moment?”

“Right, sorry.”

Holmes made his way to the truck on the right, closest to the fence. He walked slowly along both sides, inspecting it, before squeezing against the fence to get access to the lock on the back of the truck. Watson kept watch, but the building was dark and there was no sign of Moran.

There was a click as the lock came undone, and with a quick tug, Holmes opened the back of the truck wide enough to slip in to inspect the cargo. Watson took a last look at the building before squeezing himself between the truck and the fence to make it to the back. Watson stuck his head into the opening.

The truck was half full of wooden crates filled with large glass containers that Holmes was currently inspecting.

“What are those?”

Holmes didn’t respond, just moved closer to the containers, slowly taking one out to inspect it and try to read the label in the darkness. To Watson’s surprise, he even smelled it before putting it back in its place. Holmes then took a step back and counted the crates. Without a word he climbed out of the truck.

“Lock it back up while I inspect the other one,” Holmes instructed.

Watson frowned, but did as he was told. When he made it over to the second truck, Holmes was already inside. At first glance the contents of the trucks looked the same, wooden crates with glass containers, but the bottles had a different shape.

As the second truck went through Holmes’s same methodical process, Watson checked on the building and was obligated to intervene during the counting process.

“Holmes, there’s a light on in the building. Someone’s there.”

Holmes continued counting.

Watson whispered harshly. “Holmes, there is someone in the building, Moran is coming any minute, and we left the fence unlocked. We need to go. Now.”

As Watson finished speaking, Holmes finished counting and slipped out of the truck, looking like he had not heard a single word Watson had said. They locked it up and as they got ready to sneak back out, they heard the sound of a motor approaching.

“Shit,” Watson muttered under his breath.

Holmes grabbed his arm and manoeuvred them back towards the fence, squeezing them both in the corner of the fence. They crouched in an attempt to see under the trucks, in case they needed to move to prevent getting caught.

“See, plenty of time to hide,” Holmes commented as he rearranged his coat so it wouldn’t get dirty.

Watson stared at Holmes, unsure if he wanted to punch him, laugh, or kiss him.

The sound of the truck filled the air. They listened to Moran climb out to open the fence, and climb back in. Holmes and Watson saw the wheels appear in what they could see from their hiding place, as Moran parked next to the second truck. They watched Moran’s feet appear on the ground as he stepped out, then disappear as he walked over to close the fence.

Watson was surprised Moran was still inside the courtyard when he saw his feet reappear as he walked over to the door that lead to the office area and let himself in.

“We need to get out of here,” Watson said as soon as Moran closed the door behind him.

“He’s going to leave in a few minutes.”

“He must have noticed the lock was undone. He’s going to look around.”

“Wouldn’t you have done that before going inside?”

Watson huffed but didn’t insist. All they could do was wait and see.

About a minute later, they heard a car pull up and honk. They heard a door open and close, and the car driving off soon after. Holmes turned to Watson with a raised eyebrow. Watson rolled his eyes and moved along the truck to get a look at the building; the lights were still on.

“There’s still someone inside.”

Holmes straightened and smoothed his coat. “We should go search Moran’s truck.”

Watson looked at Holmes as if he had gone mad. “All you’re going to find the is street set. We need to go before we get caught and they call the police.”

“Could be something else hidden in there.”

“Don’t you have enough evidence for one night?”

“Are you suggesting that we shouldn’t try to save Stamford Productions as quickly as possible? Or are you just trying to make it last because this is the most fun you’ve had in years?”

Watson opened his mouth to respond but the words died on his lips as his eyes met Holmes’s. He felt like Holmes could see right through him, that there was no use arguing. Because it was true, Watson didn’t want this to end. He hadn’t felt this much thrill in years, but more importantly, he felt useful.

“Fine, search the truck.”

Holmes smiled, his real one, the one that made his clever eyes shine bright. The one that made Watson’s heart skip a beat. Time stretched and suddenly ran fast as Holmes slapped Watson on his shoulder and dashed off to inspect the third truck.

Watson followed him, squeezing between the back of the first two trucks and the fence, only to find it was unlocked. Holmes opened it anyway, and as predicted, all they found inside was the street set. The truck was so full it would be impossible to climb in without removing anything.

Holmes closed the back of the truck. “Okay, we can go now.”

The lights were still on in the office area as they silently made their way back to the fence and found it locked from the outside.

“Moran must have locked it before driving off.” Holmes took a step back to inspect the fence.

“What are we supposed to-” Watson’s words were cut short when Holmes suddenly jumped and grabbed onto the top of the fence and lifted himself up with much more ease then one would expect from a man of his stature. “Yeah, that works.”

Watson briefly wondered how often Holmes must have done something similar to get himself out of a sticky situation like this one, when the back door of the building opened. A beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties stepped out, catching Holmes sitting on the top of the fence. She looked at them as she lit her cigarette, face half hidden by her light brown hair that waved down to her shoulders.

She flipped her hair, took a drag and watched them as she blew out the smoke. “Is that you Tony? Did you forget your key again?”

Watson was surprised to hear a British accent.

“Tony couldn’t make it, sent us instead,” Holmes responded in his American accent without missing a beat.

“That arsehole.” She replied. “He’s supposed to phone if he can’t make it.” She paused to take a drag. “You lads could have just come in through the front, you know.” She commented as she watched Holmes climbed back down.

“Tony told us to come through the back,” Holmes replied. “Didn’t mention the fence was locked.”

“Of course it’s locked.” She said matter-of-factly, as if Holmes were dim-witted, which made Watson stifle a laugh.

“No matter,” the young woman continued. “You’re here, that’s the important thing. Come on then.”

She opened the door and waved them in, throwing her cigarette away before stepping inside.

Holmes started walking towards the door when Watson stopped him by grabbing his arm. Holmes turned around to face Watson, much closer than necessary.

“You’re not serious?” Watson asked, painfully aware of how close Holmes’s lips were.

“If we leave now we seem suspicious.”

“This is mad. We have no idea what we’re getting into.”

Holmes’s eyes lowered to Watson’s lips before he looked back up. “Could be dangerous.”

Watson’s breath caught. He wasn’t sure why, or how, but right then and there, he realised he would follow Holmes anywhere. And even more so if it was dangerous. Watson had to fight with every fibre of his being not to shove Holmes against the fence and have his way with him.

“You trying to put me off?”

“On the contrary.” Holmes walked over to the door, opened it. “I’m trying to recruit you.” He turned to Watson with a playful glint in his eye.

“Ooh, you bad man.” Watson muttered to himself.

He knew it was a terrible idea, which was why all trace of hesitation left Watson. He straightened his stance, and marched past Holmes inside the building.

From what they could tell in the corridor, there were four offices, two on either side of the back door. The corridor then led to what looked like a reception area complete with a reception desk and waiting area. The corridor then continued towards the shop doors, and stairs that lead to first floor above the offices.

The woman was waiting for them next to the stairs. “Come on now, haven’t got all night.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Ugh, I’m not an old lady yet, just call me Mrs Hudson like everyone else does.”

“Yes Mrs Hudson,” Holmes replied with a smile that made her smile.

At the mention of the woman’s name, Watson did his best to keep calm. Mrs Hudson signalled towards the stairs and led the way up. Holmes followed her, Watson behind them.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” Mrs Hudson asked Holmes.

“I like to look put together, no matter the occasion.”

She giggled. “Whatever floats your boat, dear.”

The stairs led to what looked like the break area, but at the far end was a storage space, filled with filling boxes, but there was also a stack of twelve brown boxes next to the racks.

“Take those boxes and load them into one of the two locked trucks. I’ll go get you the keys while you bring them outside.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She eyed Holmes threateningly.

“I mean, yes Mrs Hudson.”

She shook her head at him but smiled before heading back downstairs. Holmes quickly opened one of the boxes they were supposed to carry to the trucks.

“Holmes, that’s Frank Hudson’s wife. We’re in Frank Hudson’s place.” Watson said in a panicked whisper.

“Who?”

Watson wanted to scream. “Frank Hudson, as in the Hudson Cartel,” he explained harshly. “The biggest bloody cartel on the West Coast.”

Holmes’s eyes widened. “Who knew this case would turn out to be an 8? You take care of the filing boxes,” he told Watson.

“You’re a bloody madman.” Watson shook his head as he went over to the storage racks and opened the first box he could reach. “And I’m following you like a bloody idiot.”

Holmes finished opening one of the boxes they were supposed to carry to the trucks, finding stacks of paper with tiny stars printed on them.

Watson frowned. “What are those for?”

Holmes didn’t reply, just closed the box, and then headed over to Watson. “What did you find?

“Invoices from 1948 for Sets & Co., Carpentry & Co., Wood & Co., I mean, how many fake companies does FHC have?”

“Enough to launder money.”

Watson shook his head. “Still doesn’t explain what that star paper is for.”

Holmes headed over to the star paper boxes and grabbed one. “Come on.”

Watson closed the invoice filing box, grabbed a star paper box and followed Holmes downstairs. They heard the front door open and close about halfway down the stairs.

“Shit.” Watson hissed.

They paused and waited. They heard footsteps heading towards the offices.

“We should make a run for it through the front door while they talk.” Holmes suggested.

“Best idea you’ve had all night.”

They put down the boxes at the bottom of the stairs and walked as quietly as they could toward the front door. Holmes had his hand on the door handle when they heard something from the office, as if something had just crashed to the floor.

“Stop it, Frank,” they heard Mrs Hudson say in a calm but clearly scared tone.

“I’ll stop when you start acting like a grateful wife.”

“I am, you know I am-” Her words were cut short by the sound of slap.

“Stop lying to me!”

They heard another hit and crying.

“Frank, stop, please, please stop, Frank,” Mrs Hudson sobbed.

As if snapping into gear, Holmes moved into action. He grabbed the phone on the receptionist’s desk, ripped the cord out of the wall and marched down the corridor. He walked into the office without hesitating, finding Frank Hudson towering over his wife as she tried to shrink herself in the corner of the room. Before Frank Hudson had a chance to notice someone walk into the room, Holmes smashed the phone on the back of his head, knocking him to the floor.

Holmes kneeled next to Mrs Hudson, who stared at her unconscious husband.

“Are you all right?” Holmes asked gently.

Mrs Hudson turned to Holmes, looking in his eyes a moment before she nodded and let him help her up.

“You just knocked out Frank Hudson.” Watson was standing in the doorway, looking from Hudson’s unconscious body to Holmes. “You just knocked out Frank Hudson.”

Mrs Hudson looked from one to the other. “You two aren’t Tony’s boys, are you?”

Holmes looked at her straight in the eye and slowly shook his head.

She fixed her hair, placing it to hide the purpling wound on her cheek in what looked like a practiced technique. She took a cigarette from the pack on the desk. While she fiddled with the lighter, Holmes took a step closer to the desk and stared at the blueprints and maps that covered it. If he was reading it right, those looked like tunnels. Lots of tunnels, large ones.

“You’re that actor bloke, aren’t you?” she asked, looking Holmes up and down as she blew out smoke.

Watson held his breath as Holmes watched her carefully and nodded.

“Ms Hawkins keeps talking about you.” Mrs Hudson looked at her unconscious husband on the floor. “I always wanted to do that.”

“Act?”

“No, knock him out.”

Holmes laughed, making her smile.

“Did anyone else see you two here tonight?”

Holmes shook his head.

Mrs Hudson took a long drag on her cigarette and looked at Watson, who tried not to look as panicked as he felt.

Holmes spoke to her softly. “If you let us go, I promise we’ll get him arrested.”

She clenched her jaw. “And put him in prison for good?”

“A death sentence if I can manage it.”

She took drag and she thought. “All right. But just so you know, if I see you here again, I’ll have to shoot you.”

Holmes nodded. “Seems fair.”

Mrs Hudson chuckled.

“Will you be okay when he wakes up?” Watson asked.

“I’ll be fine.” She waved offhandedly. “Not the first time he’s passed out after drinking.”

Holmes looked down at her fondly. “Thank you Mrs Hudson.”

“No.” She held his hand tightly, as if trying to convey the importance of Holmes’s actions without saying it out loud. “Thank you.”

Holmes nodded his goodbye and they ran out of the office, past the reception desk and out the front door. They ran two blocks before stopping to catch their breath in a dark alley.

“What the bloody hell just happened?” Watson said, out of breath.

He looked up at Holmes who stared back at him, and after a beat they both burst out laughing.

“You knocked out a bloody cartel boss.” Watson wheezed as quietly as he could manage. “That was incredible.”

“He deserved it.”

Watson doubled over in laughter. “Yes, that seemed to be the consensus back there.”

Holmes giggled at that, and Watson thought it was the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. He couldn’t believe how this evening had unfolded, and it only reinforced how he felt, that he wanted to follow this man to the end of the earth and back, risking their lives solving cases. He knew it didn’t make sense, that it was just some daydream, but it meant a lot to Watson to get that feeling of usefulness he hadn’t felt in such a long time.

Holmes straightened. “Come on.” He led them out of the alley and back to the sidewalk.

They didn’t speak as they walked, but Watson was smiling, and he knew Holmes was as well. They made it three blocks when Lestrade pulled up next to them with his car.

“You all right?” Lestrade asked as he rolled down his window.

“Obviously,” Holmes replied as he climbed in the back, smile faded.

As soon as Watson closed the door to the front passenger seat they drove off.

“What did-” Lestrade started to ask when Watson cut him off.

“Holmes knocked out Frank Hudson.”

“You did what?” Lestrade exclaimed, looking over his shoulder at Holmes.

“We heard him beating up his wife,” Holmes explained.

“Oh,” Lestrade said gravely. “Okay, but I mean, Frank Hudson. Wow.”

“That’s not the most interesting thing that happened tonight.”

“It’s not?” Lestrade and Watson replied at the same time.

“Of course not. We just uncovered a cartel about to expand.”

“Wait what?” Watson asked.

“Those were raw ingredients in the trucks. They’re about to go from distribution to manufacturing.”

Lestrade nodded. “And make what? Heroin?”

“No, Lysergic Acid Diethylamide.”

“What the hell is that?” Lestrade asked.

“LSD for short. A potent synthetic hallucinogenic drug.”

Watson looked lost. “How the hell do you even know this?”

“There was Phosphoryl Chloride and Diethylamine in the trucks. They are both used in the chemical synthesis process. It’s a highly controversial discovery in the chemistry field, especially with the ongoing military experiments. But it’s not on the black market yet. If they manage to successfully manufacture it and distribute, they could make a fortune.”

“Holmes this is huge.” Lestrade said gravely.

“I know, it’s like Christmas.”

Watson burst out laughing.

Lestrade smiled knowingly but focused on the case. “What’s this got to do with buying out Stamford productions?” He asked Holmes.

“I’m not sure yet, but it looks like they plan to go underground. I think they need Stamford Productions because of the special treatment movie sets get. I’ve come to understand the rules don’t always apply when it comes to the movie industry. The studio would solve a key problem: space to manufacture. However, it would be impossible to hide, and the smell of those chemicals will definitely attract attention. Which is why they’re going underground.”

“Underground?” Watson asked, confused.

“Yes, in the office, on the desk, I saw tunnel plans. We just need to find where the access is.”

“Brilliant.” Watson said without thinking.

“Got any leads?” Lestrade asked.

“Stop here,” Holmes replied drily.

“What? Why?”

“I said stop here.” He snapped at Lestrade. “I need to think, and your incessant yapping is distracting me.”

Watson turned to Holmes, wondering what had caused such a mood swing. He found Holmes looking away but blushing. Lestrade stopped on the side of the road, let Holmes step out and walk away without a word.

“Don’t worry,” Lestrade said as he drove off. “He’s just trying to hide the fact that he has no idea where the tunnels are and needs to think about it. I’ll drop you off.”

Watson told Lestrade the story of their evening during the drive, making Lestrade laugh in all the right places.

“He’s mad, in’he?” Lestrade said as he slowed in front of Watson’s home.

Watson shook his head and tried not to smile. “Certainly is.” He climbed out of the car. “Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Watson was starved when he got into his flat and started working on some pasta. He poured himself a drink and let the events of the night replay in his mind. He still couldn’t believe what had happened. It felt surreal, as if taken out of a movie. He had seen horrible things in his army days, enough to understand that sometimes reality surpassed fiction in indescribable ways, but tonight had felt different. As if his time in Holmes’s world had opened his eyes to what really lay under the dark corners of the city. It unveiled just how curious Watson was to see what else there was to find when you knew where to look.

Watson stirred the sauce for his pasta dinner, thinking about writing down a few notes for his new story, when there was a knock at the door. Given the events of the evening, Watson was suddenly worried who could be behind that door. He slowly walked over to the door, and silently cursed when the floor creaked.

“It’s Holmes.” His deep voice was muffled through the door.

Watson sighed with relief before opening the door. “What are you doing here?”

**END OF CHAPTER 8**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I'm evil to cut here, but the next chapter will be quite worth the wait.


	9. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes and Watson share a meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: explicit content ahead.
> 
> Again, I can't thank May-shepard enough for helping me sort through these two idiots feelings, and make this as angsty as I can manage within context.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> P.S.  
> Sorry not sorry

**Thursday night – 36 days to the Premiere**

**Watson’s flat**

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Holmes pushed past Watson and started pacing from one end to the other of his small one bedroom flat. “I need the keys to the studio. Not that I’d need them, I’m just trying to be courteous.”

“Why?” Watson closed the door and locked it out of habit.

“I need to search the infirmary again.”

Watson rolled his eyes. “No.”

Holmes looked surprised at Watson’s negative response. “Why?”

“Because it’s almost midnight and I’m about to eat the dinner I did not have this evening.” Who did Holmes think he was, barging it at this hour demanding keys?

“This is important, I was going over the tunnel plans and-” Holmes froze and sniffed the air. “Is that marinara sauce?”

Watson smirked; proof Holmes was human beneath that calm exterior. “Come on,” he said and walked over to the stove. “You’re probably starving as well.”

“I don’t eat when I’m working. Digestion slows down brain work.”

Watson shook his head as he stirred the sauce. “You still need to have enough energy to sing and dance tomorrow.”

“Not tonight, I’m close, I can feel it.”

“So you don’t want a plate?” Watson tasted the sauce and hummed.

“I think they’re planning to build tunnels under Stamford Productions.”

Watson took out a second plate from the cupboard. “You mean the studio wouldn’t be used just for distribution?” He shut off the burner.

“Oh no, it’s much more than that. They need the studio to keep running to be able to...” His words trailed off as Holmes approached the bookshelf next to Watson’s desk, and started looking through the row of scripts.

Watson had a visceral reaction to stop Holmes but didn’t. As long as he stayed away from the stack of pages next to the typewriter. Holmes only seemed interested in the finished scripts that had already been sent out and rejected. The ones he had started writing and never finished were on the shelf below and were stacked much less neatly.

Holmes pulled out Let Me Live and Watson cursed himself. He had forgotten that he had put that one in the rejected pile, only because he had never sent it out and wasn’t planning to. Of course Holmes would pick that one. The script Watson had written in what was most likely the lowest point of his life. Without taking off his coat, Holmes sat at the table and read.

The memory of how Let Me Live was written came to Watson’s mind. It had happened shortly after he was discharged and shipped back to London. He hadn’t sent out any scripts yet, just written a lot. It was the only thing keeping him sane after weeks of lonely uneventful days and long sleepless nights.

It was about noon when he had gotten the call. His platoon, including Major Sholto, had gotten ambushed the day before. There were no survivors. Everyone Watson had been with before getting discharged, they were all gone. All at once.

Watson didn’t remember hanging up. Just stared at the wall for a few hours. When he came to, he got the whiskey in the cupboard, chugged as much as he could and sat down to write. He had woken up on the floor the next day, his shoulder and leg aching. The empty whiskey bottle was on the other side of the room, surrounded by pieces of a broken lamp.

Watson had managed to get up and clean the broken lamp before taking a shower and sleeping for ten hours straight. When he had woken up, waiting for the kettle to boil, he had contemplated the warzone state of his flat. That’s when he had spotted the stack of paper on the desk. It had looked like the odd piece out, neatly piled together, pages facing down. All he needed to do was turn it over to read.

Hours later the room was clean, but the script had been left untouched.

It stayed facing down until after the memorial service.

When he had finally managed to read it, he'd gone through the manuscript like he was in a dream. It was like reading something familiar, even though he didn't know what was about to happen. He finished reading and started crying.

Looking back, Watson knew most of his works about the war had been a coping mechanism. A way to remember, to honour his time as a soldier, as a captain, and move forward in his new life as a civilian.

But Let Me Live had turned into an homage to his platoon. He had rewritten the ambush, included himself in the story, and they had all survived. Watson could see each one of them in every line and wished he could talk to them one last time. Watson had let the tears roll down his cheeks, had let himself shout in anger, until he had been too tired to continue. Only then had he taken a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling before nodding once.

With a heavy heart, Watson had picked up a pen and started editing. He worked on it for weeks, and when it was done, he didn’t even consider sending it out. Watson had written it for himself, it wasn’t meant to be made. 

Watson shook himself out of the memory as he put the plates on the table and sat in front of Holmes. He was fighting the urge to take the script away from Holmes. Usually he didn’t mind when people read his scripts in front of him, but this particular script left Watson feeling bare, as if he were revealing more about himself than he was willing to share. Yet here he was, watching Holmes turn page after page with a look of complete concentration. And somehow, it felt like one of the nicest compliments Watson had ever received.

It eventually became clear that Holmes would not stop reading until the end. It didn’t matter. Watson was too hungry to chat anyway.

About thirty minutes later, when Holmes finished reading the last page, he tilted his head to the side and tapped the script with his index finger absentmindedly. “I’ve never seen war movies, only real footage.”

Watson put aside the day’s paper he had started reading. “You and everybody else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nobody makes war movies anymore.”

Holmes seemed perplexed. “Why?”

“Apparently since we’ve just ended a war, the public doesn’t want to see a movie that reminds them of it.”

“That is ridiculous.”

Watson chuckled. “That’s what I said.”

Holmes tapped his fingers on the script harder. “Who asked the audience? They don’t know what they want, they’re a bunch of idiots. They won’t care what it’s about if it’s good. Isn’t that how this business works? You make money by making good movies?”

“Generally speaking, yeah.”

“This is good, much better than the love story we’re currently filming. Therefore, it should be made.”

Watson blinked rapidly as he processed what Holmes had just said and tried not to show just how much it meant to him. Not that he didn’t like what he had written for A Case of Identity, but it was nothing compared to Let Me Live. Before Watson could figure out how to respond, Holmes pushed the script aside and noticed the plate in front of him and tasted the marinara covered pasta.

“Mm, this is good.”

“Thanks,” Watson managed to say.

As he finished his plate and Holmes started his, Watson took a step back to contemplate the situation. Everything surrounding Holmes, especially tonight, felt surreal. Yet here they were, eating together in Watson’s flat as if it were the most normal thing in the world. As if they hadn’t just spent the evening breaking into a money laundering business for the biggest drug cartel in the East Coast and knocked out Frank Hudson with a telephone. Watson was almost disappointed there wasn’t anything special about how Holmes ate. Or maybe the fact that he was eating was odd, if what he said earlier was anything to go by.

The last weeks left in the filming schedule suddenly seemed few. So little time to uncover the endless mysteries surrounding Holmes.

“You’ve got questions.”

Watson was suddenly aware he was staring.

He chuckled nervously. “A couple, yeah.” He wiped his mouth and took a sip of whiskey. “Why did you take the case, that first night? You said no, then you changed your mind. Why?”

Holmes looked down, almost embarrassed.

“What? Did you owe Lestrade a favour or something?”

“I may have taken the case for personal reasons.”

Watson hit his own thigh playfully. “I knew there was something.”

In fact, Watson had been dying to know. Now that he had gotten a chance to get to know Holmes a bit better, and having heard him rant about being an actor, not to mention Lestrade’s comments, it was clear he wasn’t interested in a career in acting. Which meant there had to be some hidden reason Holmes had said yes.

Holmes downed his whiskey, holding the empty glass in his hands as he breathed through the burning sensation. Worry grew in Watson as he watched Holmes fill his glass and empty it again. Had he stumbled across something deeply personal? Watson was about to tell him he didn’t need to answer when Holmes looked up through his eyelashes, the piercing stare stunning him silent.

“I love dancing.”

Watson frowned and shook his head. “Wait, you took the case... to dance?”

Holmes straightened his back and raised his chin. “Yes.”

A bright smile spread across Watson’s face. “Brilliant.”

Holmes’s raised defences faded, replaced by a small smile, the one that made his eyes shine.

“I’m not surprised really, your dancing is…” Watson tried to pick an adjective in his head, but most of them gave away how much he loved watching Holmes dance, watching Holmes in general. “It’s great, really… great.”

“Thank you.” Holmes stared at him with the same intensity as when he was trying to recruit him.

Watson was suddenly very aware they were alone. In his flat. At night. Alone. And they just had dinner together. That he had cooked.

The level of intimacy suddenly terrified Watson. Every experience he had had with men outside of the army had been limited to nameless encounters in dark alleys, even faceless in some cases.

He still had no idea if Holmes was even interested. He shouldn’t even be considering it, but then again, Holmes had been the one who walked all the way here. Maybe there was an indirect way to learn what he wanted to know.

“You’re lucky to have Ms Adler as your dance partner.”

Holmes raised an eyebrow. “She’s okay.”

Watson shrugged. “You looked like you were hitting it off.”

“Psychologically yes, but as a dance partner I’ve had better.”

“Psychologically?”

“I have to spend most of my day in her company, I’m grateful she’s clever and not some dim witted floozy.”

Watson gathered the empty plates. “So no plans for a second date?” And headed to the sink to start the washing up.

The silence made Watson curious enough to look over his shoulder. With his face half hidden behind a flip up collar, Holmes’s clever eyes stared from across the room, sending a wave of desire washing over Watson.

“No.”

“Good.” The word slipped out before Watson could stop it.

Cursing himself for the slip up, he could feel his cheeks burn as he finished scrubbing the dishes. They stayed silent until Watson had no choice but to sit back down in front of Holmes. He found his and Holmes’s glasses refilled and resisted the temptation to down his drink.

“What made you read the notes I made on the script?”

The question caught Watson off guard. He sipped his drink, asking himself how much of the truth he was willing to reveal.

“Your audition.”

Holmes raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Watson shrugged. “I’m not sure how to explain it. The audition, your performance, it helped me see Edward. You brought him to life and all of a sudden I could… I just saw Edward. And then Ms Adler joined you and there they both were, Edward and Jane. I got home that night and, well, you had given such a good performance, I was, um, curious to read your comments.”

“And?”

“You had some fair points, for someone with no previous experience in writing or filming a movie.”

Holmes scoffed. “Says the man who used most of my ideas.”

Watson smile and licked his lips. “The point is, thanks to you, The Dancing Bachelor might actually be good now.”

“Glad I could be of service.” Holmes sipped his drink. “Honestly, if it weren’t for your presence on set, I would have left after the first day of filming.”

“What do you mean?”

“Besides the long hours and repeating the same lines over and over again?” Holmes shrugged. “You’re the only one who cares.”

“That’s not true. Stamford cares so much he’s constantly about to have a heart attack.”

“And it makes him too worried to pay attention to what we’re filming. Morgan clearly doesn’t care about anything other than his own performance on set. And the rest of the crew, well, it’s nice to have an audience, but they’re not… When you’re there, you’re watching your creation come to life. I can’t begin to imagine how that must be, but when you’re watching it’s... inspiring.”

The comment made Watson think of his new story. At this point in the process, he couldn’t deny that most of the ideas he had on paper, the few key scenes he had managed to write, everything had been inspired by Holmes. But Watson wasn’t ready to admit it, much less to Holmes.

“I’m just a conceited writer who likes to see his story come to life.”

Holmes raised his eyebrows and pointed to Let Me Live. “You want me to read it aloud?”

Watson thought about the proposition. As personal as that script was, he found the idea… arousing. Watson had noted how he had found something pleasing about Holmes’s deep voice, but here, alone in Watson’s flat, the idea was… definitely arousing. It didn’t take long for Watson to imagine what Holmes’s moans sounded like, and before long Watson was imagining giving Holmes a blowjob while he read Let Me Live. The fantasy sent shivers down Watson’s spine. He had to stop himself from cursing out loud.

“Some other time maybe?” Watson managed to say.

“No need to be humble, I’m happy to-”

“And I appreciate it, I do, very much so,” Watson cut him off. “And I might take you up on that offer one day, but not tonight. I’ve had enough action for one night,” he added offhandedly and finished his whiskey.

“It rather looked like you were eager for more.”

Watson closed his eyes and regretted his choice of words fiercely. In his attempt to not give in to his attraction to Holmes, he seemed to be sabotaging himself. “I admit the last two days have been interesting, but I do need to stop to recharge every now and then.”

“You’re just out of shape.” Holmes finished his drink as well.

“Excuse me?”

Holmes smacked his lips as he set down his glass. “You are out of shape.”

Watson scoffed. “If I hadn’t been there to help you with Small, he would have gotten away.”

“I was in perfect control of the situation.”

“No you weren’t.”

“Yes I was.”

The childish arguing alerted Watson to how drunk they both were. He eyed the inch of whiskey left in the bottle. Yep, definitely drunk.

Holmes stood and took off his coat and suit jacket.

“What are you doing?”

“Proving it.” Holmes started unbuttoning his cuffs.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Very.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Because you know I’m right?”

“Don’t be absurd, I-Ah!”

Without warning, Holmes grabbed Watson’s arm and twisted it behind his back, causing him to stand from his chair and follow Holmes’s lead to the sitting room between the bed and the desk.

“You’re drunk,” Watson argued, but there was not much effort behind it.

“So are you,” Holmes said over Watson’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I can’t prove you’re out of shape,” Holmes said before letting go of his arm.

Watson took a step forward, stumbling a bit, and kept his back to Holmes while he gathered his wits. If Watson didn’t know better, he could swear Holmes was making a move. It reminded him of something he would encounter in his army days.

Slowly, Watson turned to face Holmes, who was currently rolling up his sleeves.

“What, like, whoever does the most push ups?”

“More like,” Holmes tackled Watson’s legs as he had with Small.

There was a bit of commotion as they both landed onto the hardwood floor. One step further and Watson would have hit his head on his night stand.  

“Bloody hell, what is the matter with you?”

Holmes didn’t react, he was too focused on keeping his arms wrapped tightly around Watson’s thighs. Watson clawed at him, trying to pry him off his legs while keeping his crotch away from Holmes’s face. All he managed to do was twist himself in his grip, ending up with his back to Holmes and his face pressed against the floor. Next thing he knew, Holmes had crawled up, straddled Watson’s hips, and twisted his right arm behind his back again.

The sight of Holmes’s other hand laying flat on the floor in front of Watson’s eyes was the only warning he got before Holmes’s spoke into his ear.

“Admit it. You’re out of shape.”

When Watson didn’t respond, Holmes tightened his grip on his wrist, making Watson hiss and turn his head to press his forehead against the hardwood floor. Holmes’s forearm flexed as he leaned closer, his chest pressing against Watson’s trapped arm. The movement changed the angle of his hips, causing the length of Holmes’s half hard cock to press against Watson’s arse.

There was a deliberate pause before Holmes’s voice rumbled. “Admit it.”

The words sent shivers down Watson’s spine, making his back arch against Holmes, pressing his arse harder against his cock.

_Fuck_.

Faced with hard proof of Holmes’s mutual attraction, time slowed as Watson tried to keep his head clear. Tried to remind himself why this was a bad idea. Because they shouldn’t. Right? It would be a bad idea to have something happen with someone he already knew, not a stranger in an alley. Right? Then again, Watson didn’t need to be on set. He could avoid Holmes altogether if he needed to. Right?

A small deliberate movement of Holmes’s hips caught Watson’s attention.

Holmes’s voice was almost hoarse. “Just say the word and I stop.”

_Don’t_.

Watson closed his eyes tightly, taking a few deep breaths before everything happened quickly.

Watson pushed back with his hips, grinding his arse against Holmes as a distraction, hoping that the mix of surprise, arousal and alcohol would make Holmes release the arm lock. Success. With a strong push off the floor, Watson lifted Holmes up and to the side, making him land on his side heavily. Watson quickly pushed Holmes onto his back. Before he could get a chance to react, Watson crawled over Holmes, straddling him, and grabbing hold of his wrists to hold them on either side of his head.

Their eyes met, and Watson had to restrain himself from crushing his lips against his. He didn’t dare move, as if a single movement would ruin the spell cast over them. The sight beneath him was better than anything his imagination could ever provide. Holmes’s hair was a mess, curls sprawled on the floor and across his forehead, hiding half of his right eye. He was just as out of breath as Watson, every breath stretching the fabric of his shirt, buttons straining. Watson tried to commit every detail to memory but kept getting lost in Holmes’s clever eyes.

Holmes looked up with a mix of emotions in his eyes. His muscles and tendons flexing against Watson’s grip on his wrists as Holmes managed to raise his head off the floor, bringing it dangerously close to Watson’s face. He stopped, close enough to look down at Watson’s lips before staring up into his eyes.

“Admit it.”

Suddenly it became ridiculous to Watson to have this gorgeous, insanely clever man offering himself in the privacy of his own home and still holding back. He had spent so much time holding back that he wasn’t sure how to let go anymore.

And yet as soon as Watson let himself give in, dipping down and capturing Holmes lips with his suddenly seemed so easy, he wondered why he had been holding back for this long.

John paused once their lips met, taking time to breathe through the process, making sure no one was changing his mind, giving Holmes time to run away. Holmes changed the angle slightly, and kissed Watson again, gently.

Watson tried to remember the last time he had kissed a man. A vague war memory came to mind, but Watson quickly abandoned it, focusing instead on the taste of Holmes’s lips and that little whimper he did when he caught that full lower lip between his.

Watson let go of Holmes’s wrists to cup his neck and jaw while his other hand wrapped around his slim waist, needing to feel Holmes’s body against his. Holmes mimicked him, sliding his now free arms around Watson’s back, arching under him as their kiss deepened. 

It was overwhelming to Watson how much he ached to touch Holmes, to taste him, to feel him. It was so intense, essential, to take everything Holmes had to offer before he inevitably slipped away, becoming nothing more than a memory. The more he tasted, the more Watson wanted, making his gentle touches grow desperate, clawing at Holmes’s shirt, sliding his hand down to grab his thighs. Watson shifted down, changing the angle of his hips to grind their hard cocks together, causing them to break their kiss to gasp.

Watson buried his face in the crook of Holmes’s neck, losing himself in the smell and taste of his skin. With a growl, Watson grabbed Holmes’s hips and ground them against his, moving together, rocking and thrusting against one another. 

With his nails trailing down Watson’s back, Holmes bit his neck, hard enough to leave a mark. It triggered something in Watson, making him sit up and pull Holmes up by his shirt before tugging it up from the bottom to take it off. Watson resisted touching Holmes’s pale skin long enough to pull off his own shirt. He wasn’t expecting to feel Holmes’s hands at his belt as he did.

Holmes’s mouth was on Watson’s nipple as soon as it was available, licking and biting it gently. Watson cursed and cupped the back of his head with one hand while the other caressed and scratched the long span of Holmes’s back. It felt so good Watson almost forgot about the hand sliding down his pants to grab hold of his cock.

“Fuck.”

He cupped the back of Holmes’s head and gripped his hair. Watson felt before he heard Holmes’s low moan. It suddenly became imperative he hear Holmes moan again. He used his other hand to undo Holmes’s trousers.

Holmes’s movement stuttered as Watson’s hand wrapped around his cock, mouth releasing Watson’s nipple to gasp. Using the grip on his hair, Watson angled Holmes’s head to look at him as he moved his hand up and down the length of his erection. The look of abandoned pleasure on Holmes’s face was the most erotic thing Watson had ever seen. He never wanted this to stop, but he could feel himself already close, his hips thrusting lightly in Holmes’s hand.

Watson wasn’t sure if he wanted to watch or kiss him, his mental debate cut short when Holmes batted Watson’s hand from away his cock. Confused, Watson watched Holmes push their trousers down a bit more before wrapping his hand around the both of them. With a deep moan, Watson pulled Holmes’s hair harder, hips taking a life of their own as they thrust against Holmes’s dick and hand.

“Fuck yes.”

Watson licked and clawed at every inch of skin he could reach, as did Holmes, the both of them surprised but pleased when their lips met. But the kiss was more a messy tangle of tongues, lips, and heavy breathing as they chased their pleasure.

“I’m-ah,” a hard thrust caused Holmes to hiss and moan. “I’m not going to last.”

“Oh! oh fuck.” Watson didn’t mean to, but Holmes admitting how aroused he was pushed him over the edge.

His grip on Holmes’s hair tightened as Watson pressed his face into Holmes’s neck to smother his half groan half moans. He hadn’t shared an orgasm with someone in years, and this one was so intense he barely registered Holmes tensing in his arms, trembling as he tried to breath through his own orgasm.

He wasn’t sure how, but Watson managed to help Holmes lie back down, pressing his head against his chest as they caught their breath.

Watson kissed Holmes’s sweaty skin before looking up. Holmes had his eyes closed, face relaxed as he hummed his content. A small smile tugged at his lips as he felt Watson’s fingers brush through his hair, leaning into the touch. He finally opened his eyes, finding Watson looking down at him with a bright smile. Holmes raised his free hand, cupping the back of Watson’s neck to pull him down for a kiss.

Watson grabbed his tossed aside shirt, cleaning himself and Holmes off quickly before stretching to pull the bedspread off his bed. He laid down next to Holmes and covered them both with it.

Still drunk, and now in a post orgasm haze, Watson didn’t think twice about slipping his arm under Holmes’s head. Or how Holmes put an arm around Watson’s waist and pressed his head on his shoulder. Or how he smiled when he kissed Holmes on the top of his head.

“It doesn’t have to be just tonight.”

Already on the edge of sleep, Holmes’s whispers mixed with the last of Watson’s conscious thoughts, and slowly slipped into his dreams.

* * *

 

It was four in the morning when Watson’s eyes snapped open. Heart beating hard against his chest and head, he quickly became aware of his aching body. It took him a moment to understand he had fallen asleep on the floor.

It also took him a moment to register the soft puff of breath against his shoulder, Watson froze. His eyes went wide when he remembered. Remembered how Holmes felt, how he moaned, how he looked when Watson touched him.

Watson wanted to kick himself. He had been weak, hadn't thought, hadn't wanted to think about after, about later, about the next day, about now.

Because after last night, Watson knew he would never be able to forget this man, would never be able to let him go. He could feel something under his rib cage expanding much larger than it should, his throat closed up, and his eyes stung.

Because now it was worse. Because now, not only would he have last night, but he would remember how it felt to wake up with Holmes in his arms. All he had to do was turn his head and see how Holmes looked in the morning, and just the thought made Watson ache.

It was all he wanted to do, turn his head and look at the madman asleep on his shoulder, but Watson knew it would kill him if he did. Because he didn’t want to remember it. He wanted to see it, every morning, for the rest of his life.

_It doesn’t have to just be tonight._

Watson wasn’t sure if the words had been a dream, but the idea of having a future with this man, the concept even, made him fight the tears in his eyes. Never in his wildest dreams had Watson imagined something even close to this. Waking up with Holmes in his arms like this felt impossible. Yet here he was, curls brushing against Watson’s chin. He should have known better. After having seen what Holmes was capable of, he was mad enough to find a way to make this work.  

And that thought, that glimmer of hope, made it impossible for Watson to stay there, and wake up next to Holmes as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Because it wasn’t, how could it be?

“Shut up.”

Watson’s eyes widened. He turned his head towards the low rumble of Holmes’ voice. He wasn’t even aware he was awake. “I-I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking. Loudly.”

Watson didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to argue. He needed space. He gently shifted from under Holmes’s head and sat up, fighting a sudden wave of nausea as he looked for his shirt.

“Don’t bother, I’ll go.”

Watson frowned. “What?”

“You’re obviously regretting last night, no need to hide it, I’ll leave.”

Watson was confused by Holmes’s cold tone as he stretched to grab his shirt and shrug it on.

“I-I’m not-”

“So you weren’t thinking about how last night was a mistake?”

Watson was stunned silent, unsure where this was coming from, “That’s, that’s not-”

“It’s fine, not my first time getting ditched after an orgasm.”

The comment angered Watson.

“Don’t know why I thought you’d be different,” Holmes mumbled as he buckled his trousers.

“What did you expect, breakfast in bed?”

“Clearly I’m not good enough to sleep in it, much less breakfast,” Holmes spat.

Watson scoffed, not sure what was happening but so angry it didn’t matter. “So that’s it then?”

Holmes grabbed his trench coat. “There was never any _it_ in the first place.”

Watson’s eyes widened, surprise and hurt mixing together as he watched Holmes head to the door. He looked like he was about to say something before changing his mind. Just turned and left without a word.

Watson stood there, staring at the closed door, fighting the nausea, fighting the urge to break something. He turned, hand on his forehead, looking around, unsure what he was looking for.

The evidence of what had happened, the bedspread lying rumpled on the floor, was suddenly too much to deal with. Without thinking about it twice, Watson dressed, grabbed his coat and left as quickly as he could manage.

**END CHAPTER 9**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically my first time posting M/M porn. Hopefully it went okay.  
> Thanks again to @hubblegleeflower for the movie title which ended up prompting even more John backstory.


	10. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry.

**Day 10 of Principal Photography – 35 days until premiere**

**Friday - morning**

Watson was on the couch in Stamford’s office, staring at the ceiling. Again.

He had walked from his small flat to the studio, knowing he wouldn’t get a cab at four in the morning. Watson considered trying to write to clear his mind or heading to the rehearsal studio to take it out on the piano but ended up moping on the couch with a bottle of Stamford’s scotch.

_It doesn’t have to just be tonight._

As the first rays of sun appeared on the walls and ceiling of the office around six, Watson wished he had seen Holmes’s face when he said those words. Instead all he had was a vague memory of his whispers.

It didn’t make sense to Watson. Not really. The idea of being with Holmes, not just in the darkness of the night but, in his life. Sharing his life. It felt like something that was possible in theory only, not in reality. Not like it was with a woman. It was easy for Watson to picture himself with a woman, he had even described multiple renderings of it in his scripts.

But with a man? With Holmes?

Watson tried imagining it but everything he came up with seemed… different. What he had come to know and expect from a relationship had to be tossed aside. Then again, all he had to base his fantasy on was the memory of last night. Watson couldn’t help but notice how he was the one who had ended up in the more traditional feminine role. He had made dinner, did the washing up… but he already did do those things. Alone. With Holmes it had been… nice. Even if he spent most of it just sitting there reading.

Although, that was after they had broken into a drug cartel’s money laundering business together. And ran off after having knocked out the boss. Watson didn’t try to fight the smile that came with the memory. It wasn’t the first time Watson had helped Holmes with the investigation. And Holmes had said he was trying to recruit him…

What would they do if they saw each other again? Assuming Holmes even wanted to see him again. Watson wished he hadn’t panicked, but he couldn’t help it. It had been so odd, waking up cuddled with a man. Hell, that whole evening had been filled with firsts. But somehow it didn’t matter as much until when he woke up with Holmes in his arms, curls tickling his cheek. Suddenly it was real, it wasn’t just an encounter in an alley, or a vivid fantasy, something Watson could forget.

How could he forget Holmes?

Watson grunted out of frustration, pulling his own hair, as if it could help him figure out… this, whatever this was.

He paused, head still in his hands. What was he trying to figure out? How to make it work with Holmes? Watson cursed himself for even considering the idea. Because that was the problem wasn’t it? He _was_ considering it.

“Fuck.” Watson groaned as he pulled his hair again. “I am so fucked.”

Somehow, Watson’s eyes closed on their own around seven. He woke with a start when he heard the office door open around eight. Watson slowly sat up to greet Stamford and froze mid-movement when he saw Holmes, alone.

Exhausted, unprepared, and regretting adding scotch on top of whiskey, Watson stared at Holmes in his trademark three-piece suit and trench coat. There were no clues Holmes had spent the night at Watson’s flat. He was just handsome and mysterious with his collar flipped up.

“Where’s Stamford?”

Watson cleared his throat. “Not here yet. Shouldn’t be long, he’s usually in by now.”

Holmes nodded once and turned to leave.

“You, um, you can wait here.”

Holmes kept his back to Watson, hand on the door knob. “No need.”

Before Holmes could open the door, Watson took a chance. “Holmes wait I-” His words lost their way when Holmes turned around to glare at him. “I-I don’t-”

“You don’t what?”

“I-I um, I didn’t mean to-”

“Do you always have this much trouble finishing a sentence? Or is it just on days after you’ve slept with a stranger?”

Watson eyes widened. “Will you lower your voice?” He sighed and whispered. “And you are not a stranger.”

“Let me ask you this then, since your capacity to finish a sentence is impaired; you kissed me, right?”

“Shh!”

“Don’t shush me, I asked you a simple yes or no question-”

“It-it’s not-”

Before Watson could finish his sentence, the office door opened to reveal Stamford, who was surprised to find Holmes blocking his way.

“Holmes,” Stamford greeted as Holmes moved aside to let him in. “Watson, good morning.”

“Morning,” Holmes mumbled and made his way to the window to stare outside. “But it most certainly is not a good one.”

Watson gave Holmes a hard look, hoping he would drop the subject.

Stamford looked between the two as he hung his coat behind the door. “Is everything all right?”

Holmes chuckled derisively.

Watson cleared his throat loudly. “It’s about last night, but um, we should probably wait for Lestrade.”

Stamford’s eyes widened. “Why? What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing happened.” Watson reassured.

Holmes scoffed.

Stamford frowned at Holmes and raised an eyebrow at Watson.

Watson shook his head. “You should sit down.”

“Oh dear.” Stamford tensed before heading over to the chair in front of the desk. “Oh no, it wasn’t that bad was it?”

“I thought it was good, but apparently I’m the only one who did...” Holmes muttered to himself.

Watson’s eyebrows rose high, and he fought against the rising blush from the onslaught of memories, reminding him just how good it had been. Unwilling to look at Stamford’s confused face any longer, Watson closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands. Thankfully, Lestrade arrived, announcing himself with a knock on the door.

“Morning Gentlemen. Did I miss anything?”

Holmes scoffed again.

“No, we didn’t tell him yet.” Watson said quickly, ignoring Holmes.

“Will someone explain what the hell is going on!” Stamford shouted, his face red.

Ms Hooper peeked her head in. “Is everything all right?”

“The Hudson Cartel.” Holmes said without any prompting, still facing the window. “They’re the ones behind all this.”

Watson stared at Holmes’s back. He couldn’t believe how unprofessional it was of Holmes to announce something important to Stamford so offhandedly. Watson turned to Lestrade who looked like he was silently apologising for Holmes’s behaviour.

Stamford’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “The Hud- the-the Hudson C-Cartel is trying to bankrupt me?”

“I’ll go make some tea.” Ms Hooper said before disappearing once more.

“I’m sorry Stamford.” Lestrade offered.

“How?”

Lestrade was about to explain when Watson stopped him with a wave. He stood to go sit next to Stamford.

“We went to Sets & Company last night, to the address on their invoices.” Watson paused. He felt sorry for Stamford, he really didn’t deserve this. ”Stamford, Sets & Company doesn’t exist. Well, it does, but only on paper. The Hudson Cartel uses it for money laundering. We found receipts, they have dozens of different fake names.”

Stamford looked lost. “But-but we’ve hired them before.”

“Yes, well, they really do build sets.” Watson scratched the back of his neck. “But they also launder money.”

“And they plan to do the same with Stamford Productions,” Holmes added. “By making movies, that is, not by building sets.”

Stamford wiped his face with his handkerchief. “Isn’t it a bit of an elaborate scheme to acquire another money laundering business?”

Watson pursed his lips. “That’s uh, because they’re not going to launder money.”

“They’re not?”

“No.” Holmes suddenly turned to face them. “They’re going to manufacture and distribute LSD.”

“LSD?” Stamford asked tentatively.

“New chemical hallucinogen. If they do it right they could become the first mass producer on the black market. Frank Hudson will make a fortune.”

Stamford held his head in his hands. “Magnussen was right; I am cursed.”

Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any ideas on how to stop this?” His tone notably irritated at Holmes.

“A few, however-” Holmes turned his head to the right to look at the clock on the wall.

That was when Watson spotted the marks on his neck. The marks he had made just a few hours ago. A shiver went down his back as memories washed over him, simultaneously making the ache in his chest grow. Watson looked away when he realised he probably had marks too and readjusted his collar.

“You’ll have to wait,” Holmes continued. “I have to be ready to shoot in twenty minutes. We can meet back here tonight.”

“Wait, why can’t we meet at lunch?” Lestrade asked.

“It would seem suspicious. And I have plans with Ms Adler.” Holmes plastered on his Sigerson smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” He said with his American accent.

Watson looked away, feeling his blood boil and jaw clench as Holmes walked out.

“Right, see you tonight then.” Lestrade nodded and followed Holmes out.

Watson rubbed his face. He knew he should be comforting Stamford, but at the moment all he wanted to do was break something

“John?”

The soft sound of Stamford’s voice made Watson’s rage drop. He turned to him with a worried frown.

“What happened with Holmes?”

“Nothing.”

“John.”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not blind John, have you seen your neck? I certainly saw his.”

Watson looked at the floor and tried to hide as much of his neck into his shoulders as he could manage.

“Do you fancy him?”

Watson tried not to look panicked. “What? No, of course not.”

Stamford shrugged. “Well, I guess he’d be my type too if I were into that sort of thing.”

Watson wanted to scream. “Mike, it’s not-”

“John shut up.” Stamford sighed. “I don’t care if he’s a bloke, I haven’t seen you this happy in years.”

Watson didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think anymore.

“I know things have been hard since you came back from the war, and I don’t know what exactly has gotten you two in a spat, but I do know this: you have never bloody taken script notes from an actor before, much less from an undercover detective.”

Watson kept his eyes on the floor. He couldn’t look at Stamford, not now. He had too much to think about and not enough sleep.

“I just want you to be happy.” Stamford wrapped an arm around Watson’s shoulders. “But this better not mess with the investigation or I will strangle the both of you.”

Watson couldn’t help the high-pitched giggle that escaped him and nodded. Stamford gave him a small pat on the back before pulling away and taking a deep breath to process everything.

“By the way, how’s the Finale going?”

* * *

 

**Friday afternoon**

Watson was grateful to find a turtleneck in the few changes of clothes he kept in Stamford’s office, even if he just ended up spending the morning moping on the couch. Stamford worked at his desk and muttered to himself about cartels and curses. Once he left for lunch, Watson managed to sleep for three hours. When he woke up, he still felt hungover and dreadful, and reluctantly made his way down to set to get coffee. He checked his turtleneck one last time and remembered to grab his cane to keep up appearances.

The red light over the studio door was on when Watson arrived at the bottom of the stairs. In case someone appeared, he limped his way down the corridor, and was grateful so see the light turn off when he arrived.

Holmes was the first thing his eyes found when he walked in. Holmes still looked completely unaffected by the fact he had barely slept, if at all. He was discussing something with Morgan and Ms Adler. Watson tore his eyes away and made his way to catering.

Lestrade was there, finishing a sandwich.

“Afternoon.” Watson nodded.

Lestrade answered with a nod as he chewed. He ate the last bite and signalled Watson to follow him once he had his coffee. Watson glanced at Holmes before he followed Lestrade, who led them to a quieter spot, close enough to keep an eye on set, but far enough to talk without being overhead.

Watson sipped his coffee as he tried not to look at Ms Hawkins bring Morgan a script.

“Nice turtleneck.” Lestrade commented without any prompting. “You look like shit.”

Watson scoffed. “Ta.”

Holmes and Ms Adler huddled around the script with Morgan. Watson tried not to guess what the discussion was about.

“More than usual,” Lestrade added.

Watson turned to him, unimpressed and very much not in the mood. “Is this why you pulled me aside?”

“Part of it, yeah.”

“What’s the other reason?”

“I want to call the police department to keep an eye on FHC. We need to know when and where those trucks are moving.”

Watson shrugged. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because Holmes is too busy being a wanker, sorry, I mean filming, and Stamford... well.” Lestrade looked apologetic.

Watson tilted his head to the side as he thought about it and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, all right, call the police. But they have to be careful, we can’t afford to mess up the investigation.”

Lestrade was about to reply when they were interrupted by Ms Adler using Ms Hawkins’s bullhorn.

“Watson!”

Watson turned to the sound stage as Ms Adler handed back the bullhorn and waved him over with her gloved hand. Morgan looked amused, while Holmes seemed to be fighting a sulk.

Watson turned to Lestrade who shrugged. With a heavy sigh, he limped his way to the sound stage, getting rid of his coffee on the way, and ignored the burning sensation of Holmes’s eyes on him.

“You called?” Watson said to Ms Adler upon his arrival.

“We’re having a bit of a debate over a line,” she explained

Watson prepared himself for the long-winded conversation he knew was about to take place. It wasn’t his first time having to deal with an actor over analysing lines and character motivations. He understood the process and why some actors did this, but he personally found it tedious to analyse fictional characters emotions this intensely.

“I try to leave some space for actors to interpret,” Watson offered.

“Then you won’t mind actually doing some brain work now,” Holmes said with a tight smile.

Watson pushed down his urge to punch Holmes. “Fine. What do you want me to think about?”

Ms Adler pointed to the script. “What was the motivation behind ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you’?”

Watson eyed Holmes quickly and bit the inside of his cheek. “That he didn’t mean to hurt Jane.”

“But is it true?” Ms Adler continued.

Watson shifted his weight and was starting to suspect Ms Adler wasn’t talking about the script. “Yes. Of course.”

Ms Adler insisted. “But is he being honest, or did he just hope he wouldn’t get caught?”

Watson’s eyes glanced at Holmes before he realised he was doing it. “A bit of both, really.”

Ms Adler raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Watson narrowed his eyes at her. They definitely weren’t talking about the script. Watson shook his head and chose his words carefully. “Well, Edward didn’t just hide his time in prison from Jane, he’s hiding it from everyone. It’s the entire reason he had to start fresh in a new town. He had to leave where he was because someone found out and he lost his job and couldn’t get a new one. So he lied not just to Jane, but to everyone.” Watson glanced at Holmes. “Because that’s what he’s learned he needed to do to survive.”

“So what Jane wants doesn’t matter?” Ms Adler crossed her arms.

“No, I mean, yes, but it’s not...” Watson wasn’t sure how to finish his sentence.

“Important?” Holmes offered sarcastically.

“No. No, I mean, of course it’s important, it’s just…” Watson pinched the bridge of his nose. This was getting confusing.

“Was he ever going to talk to Jane? Tell her about it? Let her choose for herself?” Holmes stood behind Ms Adler, arms crossed like her.

“Was it this intense last time they argued over the script?” Morgan whispered to Ms Hawkins, who shook her head.

Watson could feel his insides twist. “It hadn’t even crossed Edward’s mind he could. He didn’t even think Jane would be interested in him, let alone want to stay.”

“And what if she did?” Holmes asked.

Watson felt like time had stopped. Did he?

There was a cough behind Watson, jostling him out of his head and suddenly making him very aware that the entire crew was listening to them. He panicked. He needed to get out of there immediately.

“It’s not that simple,” he replied to Holmes, staring at the floor.

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.” Watson spat, trying in vain to stay calm. “Dragging Jane into it is a bad idea. If word gets out about his past, her reputation and the bakery is ruined.”

“So what’s the point then? Was it just a fling? A distraction?”

Watson was completely unprepared for the physical pain he felt from Holmes’s words. Did he really have no idea how his sudden presence in Watson’s life had felt like a rug getting pulled from underneath his feet? Taken everything he knew, had built as a civilian and flipped it upside down?

“Was it?” Holmes insisted, jaw tight.

Watson shook his head. “No. No, it wasn’t, but maybe…” He could feel himself on the verge of wheezing from a panic attack, his voice tight from the pressure in his chest. “Maybe Edward doesn’t know what he wants anymore.”

Morgan frowned. “Are we still talking about the movie?” he whispered to Ms Hawkins, who shrugged, unable to look away.

Watson cleared his throat and turned to Ms Adler. “Did you get the answers you were looking for?”

Ms Adler nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Watson turned to Morgan. “Can I go now?”

Morgan nodded. “Thank you for your input.”

Without so much as a last glance at Holmes, Watson turned and walk straight for the exit, almost forgetting to use his cane. He barely registered the fact that Morgan had just been polite to him. Eyes wide, Morgan turned to Ms Hawkins, before they both turned to watch Holmes try to look anywhere but at Watson’s retreating figure.

Lestrade, who had moved close enough to listen in, didn’t try to stop him. He kept his eye on Holmes. The room stayed silent until the studio door closed behind Watson.

Ms Adler was the first to speak. “Morgan, I need a break.”

Morgan looked in deep thought. He nodded to Ms Hawkins.

“Fifteen minute break everyone,” she called with the bullhorn. “Fifteen minutes.”

Ms Adler turned to Holmes and winked. “You owe me two favours now.”

Holmes clenched his jaw. “I’ll be in my dressing room.” He didn’t look at Ms Adler, just left.

Lestrade waited to listen to the crew’s whispers before going over to knock at Holmes’s dressing room.

“Go away.”

Lestrade heard Holmes call from inside, so he turned the knob and walked in. Holmes was pacing the small room, looking angry at the sight of Lestrade.

“What do you want?”

“What happened between you and Watson?”

“Nothing.”

Lestrade crossed his arms.

“It has nothing to do with the investigation.”

“Did you go to Watson’s flat last night?”

“Maybe.”

“Did you even sleep?”

Holmes shook his head.

Lestrade looked at him sulk. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Holmes clenched his jaw but didn’t respond.

“I’ll leave you alone, but I will say this: He needs time. It’s… a big step. Just… give him time.”

Holmes didn’t move, didn’t give Lestrade any indication he had heard anything.

With a sigh, Lestrade left.

* * *

 

**Friday Evening - Studio**

They wrapped the day around six thirty. Holmes was grateful to retreat to his dressing room and get a few moments of peace and quiet before heading up to Stamford’s office.

_Give him time._

Holmes sighed. How much time would Watson need? Patience had never been one of his virtues.

There was a knock on the door. A part of him wanted it to be Watson, another hoped it wasn’t. He figured it was most likely Lestrade coming to check up on him after their little talk.

“Come in.” Holmes called in his American accent just in case.

He straightened when Ms Hawkins opened the door.

She closed it behind her before speaking. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“No trouble.”

“This came for you.” Ms Hawkins held out an envelope.

Holmes frowned, wondering who it could be from. He inspected it but there was nothing except Sigerson Holmes written in black ink.

“Do you know who it’s from?” Holmes asked as he tore open the side and slid out a piece of paper folded into three.

Ms Hawkins waited until Holmes had unfolded the paper and started reading before answering.

“Ms Rosie.”

Holmes looked up at Ms Hawkins with wide eyes, and before he could think of what to say, he felt his mind go hazy. “What’s...?” He sniffed the paper and recognized the smell. “No, oh no.”

“Shh.” Ms Hawkins cooed, catching Holmes as he started losing his balance and helped him lie down on the floor.

Holmes tried to speak up, but he was quickly losing consciousness. The last thing he saw was Ms Hawkins petting his hair and telling him it would be all right.

* * *

 

**Stamford’s office**

It was close to seven thirty when Lestrade walked up to Ms Hooper’s desk. “Ms Hooper.”

“Mr Lestrade,” she greeted with a shy smile.

Lestrade smiled back, and they stared at one another a moment before he knocked at Stamford’s office.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Lestrade told Stamford and Watson as he stepped in and frowned. “Holmes isn’t here?”

Stamford shook his head while Watson looked away.

“But,” Lestrade worried as he pointed behind himself. “He wasn’t in his dressing room.”

“Maybe he was with Ms Adler,” Stamford suggested.

Lestrade shook his head. “No, I saw her leave.”

They looked at one another.

“How bad is this exactly?” Stamford asked gently.

Lestrade pursed his lips. “Knowing Holmes? Definitely not good.” He straightened and opened the door. “Ms Hooper, please call Holmes’s hotel and insist they go check his room and see if he’s there.”

Ms Hooper nodded and started looking for the number while Lestrade turned to Stamford and Watson.

“We need to search the building. Now.”

**END CHAPTER 10**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cue evil laugh*
> 
> Don't worry, it still ends well.
> 
> Thanks again to the wonderful may-shepard for helping me crank up the angst.


	11. Jimmy Morgan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy Morgan makes an offer to Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could talk about this chapter for ages. 
> 
> I'll keep it short: SO SATISFYING. (via May-shepard)
> 
> BTW: Sorry for the late update, life sort of threw me for a loop last week. There shouldn't be any further delays.

**Day 10 of Principal Photography – 35 days to the Premiere**

**Friday evening**

The first thing Holmes noticed when he regained consciousness was the strain on his shoulders and neck. It was only when he tried to move that he opened his eyes. His pupils slowly adjusted to the light, confirming what he felt: Holmes was tied to a wooden chair, hands behind his back, ankles secured to the legs of the chair, and additional rope across his torso. He looked around; there was a light hung above his head creating a cone of light around him, tracing a defined circle on the floor that reached a few feet around him. He couldn’t see the walls of the room, so Holmes tried to make enough noise to get a sense of the size of the room without speaking up. The echo it created was so vast that Holmes had to admit he was lost. He tried closing his eyes and concentrating on the smell, whatever noises he could hear. All he had was dead silence and concrete. There was no way to tell where he was and how long he’d been out.

Holmes closed his eyes and tried to think; the last thing he remembered was being in his dressing room with Ms Hawkins who had just given him a letter from-

Oh.

“You awake yet?” A female voice echoed in the large room.

Holmes’s head snapped up. He did not recognise it, which meant it could only be one person.

“Apparently,” the woman continued, accompanied by the sound of footsteps, not heels, coming closer, “you’ve been looking for me.”

Holmes wasn’t sure how to react when a short blond woman walked out of darkness. She stopped close enough for Holmes to see her without stepping inside the cone of light. She was entirely dressed in black, and probably armed, it was too dark to tell. But she rather seemed…disappointing.

“And you are?” Holmes kept the American accent for now.

“Ms Rosie.”

Holmes stared at her blankly and shrugged. “Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell. I’m not sure how I would be looking for you if I don’t know you.”

Ms Rosie rolled her eyes. “The nurse.”

“Oh.” Holmes nodded. “Right, well, I guess it would have been nice to meet you yesterday when I smashed my face on the floor. No need to worry, Watson took care of it.”

“Funny.” Ms Rosie smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He said you were good.”

“Who now?” Holmes asked, honestly perplexed.

“I personally think your American accent needs a little work.”

A flash of insult appeared on Holmes’s face before he could school his features. “Is there a reason you’ve poisoned me and tied me to a chair other than to insult me?”

“Obviously,” Ms Rosie replied as she pulled a little metal case from her pocket and took out a little square paper with a star on it, the size of the tip of her finger. “We need a lab rat.”

Holmes’s eyes widened as she moved towards him. In that moment, as unthreatening as she might have seemed at first glance, the look in Ms Rosie’s eyes when she came at Holmes was terrifying.

With one hand gripping the hair on the back of his head, she held Holmes in place while her other hand squeezed the muscles of his jaw, right at the back of his teeth. Holmes tried to knock off the paper star off her finger by blowing on it but it wouldn’t budge. Because of the sustained pressure, Holmes couldn’t fight it. The muscles cramped and relaxed, her strong grip forcing his mouth open with a cry. Ms Rosie quickly dropped the paper in and changed her hold on Holmes to close his mouth and keep it closed with a headlock. Holmes struggled but it was no use, he could already feel his heart rate increase. His fight or flight response started kicking in, making him start to breathe heavily and jerk against her hold. When Ms Rosie shushed him, Holmes heard the sound stretch and change to a lower pitch.

Holmes froze, his entire attention shifting to the distorted perception.

That’s when Ms Rosie let go, took a step back and waited.

At every step she took, the sound of the sole pressing off the concrete, the friction from the shift in weight from one foot to the other and the slide as the foot lifted once more, was amplified for Holmes. He had never heard it in such detail, the sound so clear he didn’t even need the image.

Once the sound of footsteps stopped, Holmes realised he had closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was looking at the ground where the footstep sounds had been coming from. He was certain of it because he could see the footsteps.

Holmes frowned. How could he see the outline of her footsteps as if she had walked in snow? That wasn’t snow, it was concrete. It looked like the ground was wet. That’s it, her shoes were wet. He smiled, proud of himself for figuring it out despite the hallucinogen.

Holmes looked up, trying to see Ms Rosie but he was distracted by something shining over his head. He looked up and was surprised to find he could see light coming out of the bulb. Or rather he could see each individual atom that composed light. They seemed white at first, but when taking a closer look, Holmes noticed the effect was because of the trail each atom left behind them. Like the condensation behind an airplane, leaving a line of white smoke behind it. Only the light wasn’t white, it was composed of the full spectrum of colours, giving the impression of a bright white. The speed mixed with the briefest glances of colour was what gave the shining effect, as if the atoms consisted of diamonds reflecting and refracting light. Holmes’s face broke into amazement as he watched the phenomenon happen within the cone of light created by the lampshade.

“Still with us there Holmes?” Ms Rosie asked.

It took a moment for Holmes to hear the words, then decipher them. He turned to Ms Rosie out of confusion rather than acknowledgement. His eyes slowly focused on her and not on the millions of glittering diamonds he was sitting in the middle of. Only he could barely see her. She was standing just outside of the ring of light traced on the floor. Holmes knew she was only lit by the half-light, but with the effects of the LSD, it looked like she was absorbing light. The few light diamonds that reached her just…disappeared. As if she was a black hole, pulling everything in its surrounding into nothingness.

The image of a black hole dressed as a nurse popped into Holmes’s head and made him burst out laughing.

Ms Rosie shrugged. “Well, it could be worse.”

Holmes’s laughter doubled up every time he glanced at her, making him bend over as much as he could manage while being tied up.

When he finally pulled it together, Holmes beckoned Ms Rosie with his head, and regretted it when the movement made him nauseous. Or all the laughing. Or the LSD. Probably the LSD.

“Tell me, tell me.” Holmes registered he was back to his London accent, knowing it didn’t matter anymore but unable to explain why. “How horrible was it to wear the nurse uniform?”

Ms Rosie looked baffled. “What?”

“Pff, come on, you’re not a nurse, I know that much. What, like a freelance hitman? I mean hitwoman?”

Ms Rosie blinked, surprised. “Yeah, that’s… part of it.”

Holmes chuckled. “Yeah, see? Got it in one.” He paused as he slowly processed what she had just said.

“Is that what you were laughing about?” Ms Rosie asked with a frown.

“Part of it? What part of it? Part of what? What did I miss?”

The frown morphed into a wicked smile. “You’re not the only one who’s good at more than one thing.”

Holmes frowned as he tried to figure out what she meant. He had little to go on, and most of what he knew of her was distorted from the force-fed LSD.

Oh!

“You’re the chemist.”

She nodded, clearly pleased.

“Oh that is good, that is brilliant. So, were you planning on letting the LSD kill me or…?”

“Please, I know what I’m doing, that dose won’t kill you. No, it was his idea. He wanted to get you nice and loose to _talk_.”

“He?” Holmes let the interrogative _E_ trail much longer than needed. “He who?” And did the same with the _O_ but with the tone going down.

“Me.” A man’s voice echoed in the room.

Holmes knew that voice, he knew that he knew that voice, but it was different. How was it different? It was, it was… Irish? A confused look painted itself across Holmes face when the Irish voice spoke again.

“I believe we haven’t properly met, Sherlock Holmes.”

His confused looked transformed into shock when his name echoed in the room. It didn’t matter who was Irish now, he _should not_ know that name.

Morgan stepped out of the darkness and Holmes chastised himself for not recognising his voice. Morgan was dressed in an impeccably tailored three-piece suit, hair slicked back, but his trademark white silk scarf nowhere to be seen.

Morgan also stood in the half-light, inches away from the circle of light on the floor, a black hole absorbing every light diamond that reached him. He stared at Holmes a long moment before bending forward, making his head and shoulders lean into the cone of light.

The vision was terrifying to Holmes, he was close enough to see every light diamond hit, leaving a ripple of light like a rock hitting still water, before being absorbed into nothingness.

“James Moriarty.” He smiled devilishly. “Hi.” He sang.

Holmes stared at him, baffled. “You’re Irish?”

“You’re British?” Moriarty replied, mimicking his tone.

Holmes rolled his eyes. “Well that explains _a lot_.” He registered Moriarty’s insulted look before he straightened, his body retreating into the half-light once more. Only Holmes was more interested in filling in the blanks of the case. Which was difficult since the light diamonds were so pretty to look at, but it felt vital to get answers.

“A drug cartel? Really?”

Moriarty frowned. “What?”

“I don’t know, it’s just, you don’t seem the type, I mean drugs are so…”

“Plebeian?” Moriarty offered.

Holmes nodded. “Exactly.”

A wide smile “Haven’t figured it out yet?”

Holmes growled. “I would have if I didn’t have to act in a bloody movie.”

“I know.” Moriarty said smugly. “I may have played that to my advantage.”

“Of course you did. Wait, how long have you known about me? That I wasn’t an actor.”

“From the beginning, obviously.”

Holmes stared at his dark figure. “How?”

“I’ve had my eye on you for quite some time.”

There was something about how Moriarty said this that sent chills down Holmes’s spine. All of a sudden, he was back in his hotel room staring at the picture of Morgan asking himself exactly the same thing he was right this moment.

“What are you?” Holmes whispered, thinking out loud.

Moriarty put his hands in his pockets and smirked. “I see it as helping people, people who have problems they need help solving. Sort of like you, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.”

Holmes paused and frowned. “But you’re currently helping the boss of a drug cartel expand into manufacturing and distributing LSD.”

“The LSD was my idea. Frank just wanted to do cocaine. So boring.”

Holmes took a chance. “Why a production company?”

Moriarty smile widely. “You hate not knowing, don’t you?”

“Obviously. Now stop taunting me and tell me.”

“Mmm I think it’s much more fun if I don’t.”

Holmes felt a twitch of frustration but a part of him enjoyed the mystery, the game. He suddenly understood. “You’re a…” Holmes didn’t how else to put it, “consulting criminal.”

“Just so.”

“Huh.” Holmes frowned. If Moriarty was working for such a powerful cartel, he needed a reputation, especially with this much fieldwork involved. “How come I’ve never heard of you?”

“Because I don’t get my hands dirty. I work from behind the scenes, in the shadows.”

“Pff, that doesn’t make any sense, I just spent the last three weeks filming a movie with you. What are you, ex-MI6?”

Moriarty chuckled. “Please, if you can’t stomach working for Queen & Country, do you really think I can?”

“Fair point. So what’s with this director persona?”

“It’s true, this is rather unusual, but I confess: I do enjoy it, very much so. Sort of like you and dancing.”

Holmes blushed from the memories of Watson talking about his dancing. “That obvious, is it?”

“Have you seen yourself dance? You’re like sex with legs.” Moriarty undressed Holmes with his eyes.

“And you enjoy bossing people around? Or is it the public humiliations that really get you off?”

“Mm,” There was a vicious look in Moriarty’s eyes. “That obvious, is it?”

Holmes fought a wave of nausea. “So what’s this then?” Holmes looked around. “A little intimate for your taste, isn’t it? Or is having Ms Rosie as a witness enough for you?”

“Mm I love it that you’re a fighter. You never know when to give up. That’s why I’ve been working on a little something special for you. See I’ve been tracking you for quite a while now, I’m rather a fan of your work. I just haven’t managed to clear my schedule for long enough to put it into play.”

“Put what into play?”

“A puzzle. Well, puzzles. Can’t make it too easy for you, where’s the fun in that? It was supposed to be my ‘get to know you’ present. Now it’s a bit useless. I mean, I’ve been working on this for almost a year now and suddenly you show up out of nowhere and audition to be in my movie. I swear, I couldn’t have planned it better myself. It’s as if the universe wanted us to be together.”

“Together? Aren’t we technically arch nemesisss—neme--nemesisisses?”

“In a way. But didn’t our time playing director and actor give you a taste of what we could accomplish together?”

Holmes felt a cold wave wash over his body, increasing the nausea and the numbness in his limbs. Something happened in the light diamonds, as if he had started absorbing them. Holmes looked down in shame. He knew why he had darkened; he was curious.

The man had been insufferable these past weeks, but Holmes had to admit he was surprised. He had not seen this coming. And this was while working for Frank Hudson and having to deal with drugs (so pedestrian). What would the puzzle be? Damn him for mentioning it. He knew what effect it would have.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Holmes shook his head. Moriarty was wrong; he wasn’t thinking about working with him, no. But having a proper opponent, that, that was tempting.

“What if I say no?”

Moriarty shrugged. “Then I kill you.”

Holmes frowned. “Really? As simple as that? I’m disappointed. I was expecting something more from you Moriarty.”

“No, no, I get it, you’re right,” Moriarty replied, almost apologetic. “It’s not my style. But little Ms Rosie here just loooves killing people.”

“So you’re just going to shoot me? In the middle of the principal photography? How does that even work? A child could solve that one.”

“Not if it looks like a suiciiide.” Moriarty sang.

Holmes rolled his eyes. “And why would I kill myself?”

“I don’t know, because Ms Adler rejected you or some bullshit.” Moriarty said with a bored tone. “I don’t CARE what the press comes up with, as long as it looks like you killed yourself.”

“So you’re just going to cancel the movie?”

Moriarty’s director persona shone through. “We’ll cut what we have and release it as a post mortem in your memory, the greatest actor that never got a chance to live his glory.”

“How poetic.” Holmes replied flatly.

“Mm, I _know_ , it’s going to be huuuge. It’ll work perfectly with the cursed story. Stamford Productions will be forced to go bankrupt.”

Holmes closed his eyes and focused on keeping his heart rate down so he could think through the LSD. “What about Ms Adler?”

“What about her?” Moriarty sounded confused but mostly bored.

“Why were you so mean to her yesterday?”

“She’s supposed to keep an eye on you, keep you busy, and there you go, running after Small. Now because of your little run in with Small, what we had planned for next weekend was moved up to today.”

“She’s still a valuable asset to have as a contact, especially if you need to keep this place running after the hostile takeover. Why burn that bridge?”

“She’s already done all I needed her for. She can tank this place for all I care. As soon as we’re up and running I’m out of here.”

“Tank this place?”

“She’s going to be the new producer, that’s the only reason she said yes.”

Holmes tried to imagine Ms Adler as a producer. “That… suits her perfectly, actually.”

There was something he wanted to do with this information, he just wasn’t sure what yet. Still too much LSD to figure it out.

Moriarty was staring at Holmes with an odd look in his eye. “So, yes or no?”

“About?”

“Come and work for me.”

“I’m no murderer.”

“Neither am I.”

Holmes scoffed. “You killed Anderson.”

“He tripped himself.”

“ _You_ set him up to trip himself! Murderer. Mmmurderer.” Holmes repeated, taking the syllables and playing with them, finding himself fascinated with the movement of his mouth from one syllable to the other.

Moriarty stared at Holmes’s grimace and pursed his lips. “Yeah, maybe LSD wasn’t the best idea.”

“You think?” Ms Rosie commented.

There was a rush of footsteps and what sounded like heels coming from behind Holmes. It sounded like… Was that Ms Hawkins’s voice?

“Jim!”

“What is he doing here?” Moriarty muttered and turned towards the fast-approaching footsteps. “What is it Frank?”

“I tried to stop him.” Yes, that was Ms Hawkins. Holmes couldn’t see her or Frank. Who was Frank again?

“The cops are here,” Frank announced.

“What? How?” Moriarty asked angrily.

“I think they tailed the trucks.”

Hudson, that was it. Wait, the police were here? Holmes looked around, but he couldn’t see anyone besides the voices.

“Shit,” Moriarty hissed.

A rush of footsteps echoed closer.

“We have to go. Now,” Hudson warned.

“What do we do with him?” Ms Rosie asked.

Moriarty turned to Holmes with a fond look. “Last chance to say yes.”

Holmes stared him in the eye. “I’d rather _burn_.”

Moriarty shrugged. “Oh well,” and stepped aside.

Ms Rosie was standing behind Moriarty. Once Holmes could see her, she pulled out a handgun and aimed at Holmes right between the eyes.

Time seem to slow down as Holmes’s attention focused solely on looking down the barrel. He somehow would have expected himself to feel a bit more out of sorts about the situation, but Holmes felt himself calm, accepting. The last two weeks had been a thrill and he was ready to accept this as the end, even if it felt more like a beginning.

There was the loud sound of a detonation, yet Ms Rosie did not move. Did not press her finger against the trigger, and there was no bullet that came out of the barrel aimed directly between Holmes eyes.

Before Holmes could register what was happening, there was a second gunshot, quickly followed by two more, and they still weren’t coming from the gun he was staring at.

With a frown, Holmes looked up and saw that Ms Rosie’s determined look had transformed into shock, before she slowly looked down. Her gun hand lowered as the other gently touched her chest. There was a brief pause before Holmes saw Ms Rosie collapse to the ground, lost in darkness.

Screams of pain and running footsteps caught Holmes’s attention.

“That way!”

“Is he dead?”

He looked around, he didn’t understand how he could hear so many people and not see a single one. All he saw was darkness, making him feel alone and vulnerable. Holmes started to struggle against his ties even though he knew it was useless.

“He’ll live.”

Holmes’s head snapped up. Was that-?

“John?”

Holmes didn’t care if he sounded scared or that he was using Watson’s first name for the first time without permission while on LSD. The sight of him was like seeing the morning sun appear on the horizon. As soon as he stepped inside the cone of light Holmes’s eyes widened as Watson was showered with light diamonds. It was breathtaking.

“John.”

Holmes couldn’t describe he joy he felt when he saw Watson smile fondly. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Well, they gave me LSD, besides that I’m fine. You?”

Watson chuckled. “What? You’re high on LSD right now?”

“Yes, you’re covered in light diamonds.”

“Oookay.”

Holmes smiled as he enjoyed the hallucinations on Watson. He was the only one who made it look like the light was coming from him, radiating outward. The closer he was, the more exquisite he became. “It’s beautiful.” Holmes added, his words breathless.

Watson looked like he wanted to say something but instead he took out a pocket knife and started cutting the ties at Holmes’s ankles.

“How did you find me? Where are we?”

“Prohibition tunnels.”

Holmes gasped. “Oh that’s clever. Why is that clever?”

Watson smirked. “You’re high as a kite, aren’t you?”

“Very much so.”

Watson finished cutting him free and helped him stand. Holmes didn’t stop himself from taking the time to feel the fabric of Watson’s clothes, the warmth underneath as he leaned against Watson for support and balance. Holmes hid his face in the crook of Watson’s neck, moaning angrily against the fabric of his turtleneck, wrestling it aside with his nose to taste Watson’s skin once more.

“Stop that.” Watson whispered, using his free hand to try and hide what Holmes was doing to whoever was watching them.

“What is it about you?” Holmes whispered against his skin.

“This is not the time or place.” Watson said through clenched teeth.

“Don’t leave me.”

Holmes hadn’t meant to say it, not like that, but he couldn’t help it. They always left. And Watson…well, Holmes had offered him plenty of opportunity to leave when they broke into FHC, and Watson had not only stayed, but challenged him. Pushed him. Helped him. Kissed him. And Holmes didn’t want to let that go without a fight.

Watson twisted his neck to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Holmes pushed down his urge to kiss Watson, instead wrapping his arms around him and holding him as tightly as he could manage.

“So how did you find me?”

“Come on,” Watson nudged. “Let’s get you sobered up.”

**END CHAPTER 11**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way to much fun with that LSD trip. tbh: it was just to work that conductor of light metaphore. 
> 
> Just a quick reminder: two weeks of filming left and they're down a director and assistant director. 
> 
> Dun dun duuuuuhn!


	12. The New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cast and crew go out to celebrate their new director and assistant director.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last three updates will be on sundays and wednesday

**Saturday Morning – 34 days to the premiere**

**Los Angeles Police Department**

“Let me get this straight.”

“Oh God!” Holmes threw his head back, exasperated. “Must we go through this again?”

Chief of Police Jones gave Holmes a pointed look before continuing.

“You’re telling me that Holmes went undercover as the lead actor to investigate Philip Anderson’s death, which the police had already declared was accidental.”

“ _Allegedly_ ,” Holmes corrected. “You should talk to the detective on that case. He was most likely bribed to do so.”

Jones pursed his lips, looked from Holmes to Rogers and nodded. Rogers took note of Holmes’s comment in the report.

Jones chewed the inside of his cheek a moment before he carried on. “You then discovered that Anderson’s death was part of an elaborate plan for the Hudson cartel to expand into drug manufacturing. They needed Stamford Productions because it has a hidden trap door that leads to prohibition tunnels, where they set up the LSD lab we’re currently in the process of dismantling.”

Lestrade nodded. “In a nutshell, yes.”

After Holmes’s rescue, what had been left of the night was spent at the Police Precinct. They were now in Chief Jones’s office, which felt cramped with so many people in it. Jones was sitting behind his desk, with Lestrade, Stamford, Watson and Holmes sitting in front of him. Officer Rogers, Lestrade’s contact, was leaning against a filing cabinet behind Jones.

“Last night they kidnapped Holmes, and when Watson found Holmes, he was with James Moriarty aka Jimmy Morgan, and…” Jones looked down at his notes. “Ms Mary Rosie, which might be a fake name-”

“Of course it’s a fake name.” Holmes repeated impatiently.

“Janine Hawkins and Frank Hudson arrived shortly after to warn the others of our arrival,” Jones continued a bit louder. “Moriarty ordered Ms Rosie to kill Holmes. Watson intervened, shooting first and killing her. He shot a second time, which wounded Hudson, then twice more in the general direction of the now escaped James Moriarty and Janine Hawkins ran. We’ve now determined that they escaped.”

Lestrade nodded. “Sounds about right.”

Jones leaned back in his chair and look at them gravely. “And now you’re telling me that if I don’t leave you all out of the story,” Captain Jones continued, “Stamford Productions will go bankrupt.”

“Yes,” Stamford replied with a nervous smile.

Holmes hummed. “Well, we could possibly survive with a distraction, like Ms Adler and I announcing a marriage or something equally ridiculous.” Holmes looked up at the light and smiled before whispering, “beautiful.”

“Captain Jones, if you please.” Stamford said, so they would ignore Holmes’s behaviour. “I understand what we’re asking is rather unusual, but I don’t think you understand the opportunity we’re offering you.”

Captain Jones’s eyebrows rose. “Opportunity?”

Stamford nodded. “Why yes. Imagine: today, you’re going to attend a press conference to announce how your leadership guided Officer Roger here and his team to take down Frank Hudson, the head of the largest drug cartel on the west coast, and take out one of the most dangerous drug chemists in the country, possibly the world.” Stamford looked from Captain Jones to Officer Roger. “Imagine what the future holds for each of you.”

Captain Jones leaned back in his chair. He turned to eye Officer Roger, before turning back to Stamford with a calculating eye. “Could you be present at the Press Conference, as a victim?”

Stamford smiled widely. “With pleasure.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Holmes cut in, “can you get Hudson executed?”

Jones paused, finding the question curious. “I’m pretty sure that’s the sentence that’s waiting for him in court.”

Holmes nodded. “Good. Mrs Hudson will be pleased.”

Everyone except Watson looked at Holmes with a puzzled look.

“What?” Holmes asked. “It was her idea.”

* * *

The sun was rising when Stamford, Lestrade, Holmes and Watson stepped out of the precinct. They stood on the sidewalk and watched the sunlight colour the sky.

Stamford broke the silence. “Is it really over?”

Watson smiled and patted him on the back. “Yes Stamford, it’s over.”

With a huff, Stamford turned to Watson, and together they laughed and hugged each other. Stamford then turned to Lestrade to hug him too, making Lestrade laugh and pat his back.

Holmes, who had been staring at the sunrise in awe was oblivious to what was happening. Therefore, he was taken surprise when Stamford wrapped his arms around him for a tight hug.

“Not this again,” Holmes muttered.

“I’m not cursed anymore!”

Holmes rolled his eyes. “You were never cursed.”

Lestrade chuckled. “Just let him have this one.”

Stamford pulled back. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“A verbal thanks would have been quite sufficient.”

Stamford smiled. “Thank you, Holmes. Thank you from the entire crew. Oh, that reminds me, we need to call an emergency production meeting to prepare for the press conference with the police.”

Watson laughed. “And we’re right back to business.”

Stamford laughed as well. “Yes, well, the schedule doesn’t change, filming continues on Monday and we’re down a director and an assistant director.”

“Damn, that’s right.” Watson said gravely.

“I’ll call Ms Hooper so she can set up the meeting for this afternoon, let’s say five o’clock? I think we all need a bit of sleep,” Stamford said, looking at Holmes who had gone back to staring at the sunset.

“I’ll take Holmes,” Lestrade offered. “Not my first time dealing with him while he’s uh, in this state.”

“Actually, I need to talk to Stamford,” Holmes said without looking away from the sunrise.

Lestrade looked confused and turned to Stamford.

“Yes, I’ll take you home, whatever you want,” he said enthusiastically.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Watson argued, tight lipped. “Shouldn’t you stay under observation because of the drug?”

Holmes eyed Watson with a pleased smile. “My blood pressure has gone down, my pulse is stable, the only residual effects are the visual hallucinations. What I need is water and sleep.” Holmes paused. “But I really do need to speak to Stamford.”

Watson looked like he was stopping himself from saying something before he nodded.

Stamford patted Holmes on the back. “Come on then.”

“See you this afternoon,” Lestrade replied before turning to Watson. “Come on, I’m parked over there.”

They walked in opposite directions, leaving Watson to look over his shoulder at the retreating silhouette of Holmes’s trench coat.

* * *

**Saturday Afternoon – 34 days to the premiere**

**Stamford Productions Conference Room**

“So let me get this straight,” Wiggins said to Stamford when he finished retelling the story to the cast and crew.

Holmes rolled his eyes. Watson chuckled at the déjà vu. It was the conversation at the police station all over again. They’d surprised a lot of people with this story.

“You’re not an actor?”

Watson blinked, surprised by the direction Wiggins’s interrogation was taking.

“Bill, he just said he’s a detective,” Ms Adler replied, clearly amused.

“So you just sing and dance and act like that with no prior experience,” Wiggins continued, staring at Holmes, who looked amused as well.

“Yes. Oh and um… I’m from London,” Holmes said, dropping his American accent.

Watson rolled his eyes at the dramatic effect but had to admit his timing was perfect. Everyone at the table gasped, well, everyone except those involved in the investigation.

“Well dress me like a horse and call me Silver,” Wiggins exclaimed. “Sherlock Holmes, you’ve got some skills.” Wiggins leaned back in his chair then turned to Stamford. “To be honest, I’m not really surprised about Morgan, I mean Moriarty. He’s clearly the villain type, but Ms Hawkins, never saw that one coming.” Wiggins noticed Murray who had his head down and arms crossed. “Oh, I’m sorry Murray.”

“It’s fine. Probably why I liked her in the first place.”

Wiggins frowned, confused. “You had no clue until now.”

“I could tell she was hiding something,” Murray argued with a huff.

“Right,” Wiggins replied unconvinced.

“Shut up.” Murray shrugged.

“Now remember, we must keep everything hidden from the press,” Stamford continued. He looked different, relieved the case was over and he could finally tell the crew the truth. “Or we won’t be able to finish the movie.”

“Why?” Wiggins asked.

“Because Holmes will be caught up in legal procedures that will push back the shooting schedule and we just can’t afford any other delays. The LAPD have promised to be done cleaning out the drug lab in the tunnels by Monday. If they need longer they promise to work without disrupting filming. This is why you had to sign the non-disclosure agreements. If word gets out before the movie premiere and promo tour is over I go bankrupt and everyone loses their jobs...”

There was a murmur of worry and surprise around the table.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but it was to prevent any interference with the investigation,” Stamford explained.

“At my request,” Holmes added.

“For now, all you need to do is keep all this a secret and you all get keep your jobs. Deal?”

Everyone answered yes.

“Good. Lovely. One last thing before we move onto the next item on the list: Holmes will be keeping his American persona for the press and promo tour.” Stamford added quickly with a smile. “Now we need a new director and assistant director. Any volunteers?”

The room was silent as they all looked at one another.

Murray spoke first. “Well, I mean, it can’t be me, or Small, or Dimmock, or anyone from the band.”

“Anyone?” Stamford repeated.

“Wiggins?” Murray suggested.

Wiggins crossed his arms. “Yeah, like that’ll happen.”

“I think Watson should do it,” Ms Hooper said.

They all turned to Watson, who was staring at her, shaking his head. “I-I don’t...”

She continued. “You already know the story, the songs, the choreography, the characters-”

“I still have to write the finale.”

“Oh please,” Ms Adler laughed. “You’ve spent almost every day on set since we started filming.”

Holmes watched Watson with a hopeful look. “You’ll have weekends to work on the finale.”

Watson thought about it a moment. He’d given up the idea of directing years ago. But in this instance, as insane as the circumstances were, he had to admit the challenge of taking on the role was… thrilling.

“Ms Hooper should be assistant director,” Ms Kate added.

Everyone seemed more surprised to hear her talk rather than by her suggestion. Then they all turned to Ms Hooper, whose face was quickly becoming a bright shade of red.

Watson blinked. “That’s… a great idea.”

As uncertain as it made him, given the urgency of the situation, Stamford looked ready accept anything.

Ms Hooper looked terribly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the table but managed to reply. “Really?”

Ms Adler smiled at her. “My dear, you were made for the job.” She winked.

“You’d be a great partner,” Watson added. “I don’t see who else I could pull this off with.”

Ms Hooper worried her lip and turned to Watson. “I’ll do it if you do.”

Watson held out his hand across the table. “Deal.”

Ms Hooper smiled widely. “Deal.” She shook Watson’s hand.

“Wonderful!” Stamford exclaimed. “I still can’t believe it’s over, I feel like celebrating.”

“That is a great idea Stamford,” Ms Adler replied. “We should go out tonight. We all should.”

There was a murmur of excitement around the table.

“What about the press conference tomorrow?” Ms Hooper reminded.

“It’s in the afternoon, we have plenty of time.” Ms Adler argued.

“Yes, yes, perfect.” Stamford encouraged. “Everyone must be there. We’ll all meet back here tonight at seven thirty and we’ll take the limousine to the Cocoanut Grove together.”

As soon as Stamford adjourned the meeting, everyone started discussing what to wear and quickly made their way out to get ready. Watson caught Holmes’s attention while Wiggins and Murray were cornering him.

“Excuse me gentlemen, the director needs to speak to the lead actor,” Watson interrupted with a smirk.

Wiggins and Murray laughed and patted Holmes on the back before leaving to get ready for this evening.

“So,” Watson started. He didn’t know what to say, they hadn’t had a moment alone, let alone tried to talk, since he had found Holmes tied to a chair.

“Ever think you’d be director one day?” Holmes asked with a smirk.

Watson laughed. “Certainly not. Then again, I never thought I’d get rid of that cane.”

Holmes smiled with his eyes, and Watson wished they were alone. Seeing a gun pointed at Holmes’s head had led Watson to question his priorities in life. There was so much he wanted to say.

“Watson?” Ms Hooper interrupted after having freed herself from a concerned Stamford.

“Yes, Ms Assistant Director Hooper.” Watson answered.

Ms Hooper smiled.

“Sounds good, doesn’t it?” Watson nudged Holmes with his shoulder.

“It certainly does.” Holmes agreed.

“Well, _director_ Watson,” Ms Hooper said playfully. “We have a few things to sort out before we can leave.”

“Right.” Watson nodded and turned to Holmes with an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

“Of course. See you tonight.”

Holmes’s eyes lingered on Watson’s lips a moment before he turned away. He slowly put on his trench coat, listening to Watson and Ms Hooper revise the filming schedule and talk storytelling and photography. Holmes could already tell how good a team they were.  

The mood on set was going to be very different on Monday.

* * *

**Saturday Night – 34 days to the Premiere**

**The Cocoanut Grove**

Stamford had called in advance to announce their arrival and have tables ready for them.There was an air of excitement as the cast and crew, dressed up to the nines, stepped out of the limousines in front of hotel.

Watson felt out of place. This was so fancy, and everyone seem to already know each other. Stamford was right, Watson needed to go out more. Thankfully, Ms Hooper was nice enough to hold his arm as they walked along with the rest of the cast and crew to their booths.

“I’ve had to come here so many times with Stamford and I still feel out of place,” she murmured to Watson.

“Oh, it’s not just me then.”

She smiled and shook her head.

“At least you know everyone’s names,” Watson added.

“Just because Stamford can’t be bothered to remember half of them.”

Watson chuckled. “He always was horrible with names.”

They were led to three booths near where Holmes and Ms Adler had been at their last visit. Watson started going towards one of the two crew tables when Ms Hooper guided him to Stamford and the cast. Ms Adler sat in the centre, the spot with the best view of the room. Holmes was on her right, and Ms Kate on her left. Watson moved aside to let Ms Hooper slide in to sit next to Holmes.

“No, I sit on the end, just like Stamford,” she argued.

“Why?” Watson asked.

“Because Stamford will inevitably be called away to other tables to talk business, which means I have to go as well,” Ms Hooper explained. “If we sit on the edges, you won’t have to shuffle in and out all evening.”

“It’s also to fend off Ms Adler’s admirers,” Stamford added with a wink to Ms Adler.

“We might need to fight off some of Holmes’s as well.” Ms Adler nodded towards the group of women straining their necks to look over to Holmes.

Holmes waved at them, causing the women to turn away and blush while everyone at their table laughed. Watson shook his head and slid in next to Holmes.

“It’s all part of the show,” Holmes told Watson as he settled next to him.

“I’m not much of a show man myself,” Watson explained and tried not to focus on how close Holmes was, how easy it would be to touch him, press his leg to his-

“It’s part of the job. Especially now that you’re the new director,” Stamford said as he settled in how own seat.  

Watson sighed. “Do I have to?”

“Judging by the two coming in, it’s inevitable.” Stamford answered Watson with a wink before he greeted their first visitors of the evening.

Whether it was an actor, a director, a casting agent, or a producer, they all asked about the rumours they had heard about the police lines around the studio. Stamford and Ms Hooper took care of diverting their attention to Watson replacing Morgan. The news travelled across the room quite quickly, causing the traffic at their booths to increase.

Watson ended up having to shake hands and chat with every single person who came up to the table, which was exhausting for someone who was used to spending the better part of his days alone. There was also the added distraction of being _very_ aware of Holmes’s proximity. It left Watson feeling anxious and self-conscious, which meant he kept saying the wrong thing. He was already terrible at chit-chat. He had always managed to nod and smile at everything Stamford said, but now he was forced to talk, to figure out a decent answer.

Watson wasn’t expecting so many personal questions: No, he never thought he’d be director. No, he didn’t go to film school or take writing classes. And it was certainly none of their business why he wasn’t married yet.

If it hadn’t been for Holmes and Ms Adler cutting in every time Watson was about to say something rude, he would have ruined the movie before it came out.

They finally got a moment of respite, allowing them to finish eating and relax before the next wave.

“Thank you for preventing me from making an arse of myself,” Watson whispered to Holmes and Ms Adler once their plates had been taken away.

“Just doing our job,” Ms Adler replied offhandedly as she leaned back in her seat, her shoulder pressing up against Ms Kate’s.

Watson suddenly felt Holmes’s thigh press into his and nearly jumped away in surprise. He thankfully managed to stay still, held back from turning to Holmes, and dearly hoped he wasn’t blushing.

Why were they in the middle of a very crowded restaurant again?

The master of ceremony took the stage, but Watson barely took notice of it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that we have in our company tonight the cast and crew from Stamford Production’s upcoming movie: The Dancing Bachelor.” He paused for applause. “I’d like to invite Mr Stamford to come and say a few words.”

Watson shook himself enough to focus on what was happening now that the crowd was turned towards them and Stamford was standing to make his way to the stage with Ms Hooper tailing him.

Stamford smiled and took the microphone. “Thank you sir.” He turned to the crowd. “Thank you everyone. I can’t tell you anything because we’re under police orders not to say anything until tomorrow’s press conference, but what I can tell you, is that tonight is a celebration night.”

There was a loud cheer from the three booths, making the rest of the room laugh. But all Watson could focus on was the increasing pull towards Holmes. At this rate their shoulders would touch soon.

“Now, I can’t talk about, um, whatever happened,” Stamford continued. “But what I can do, is give you a sneak peek at Sigerson Holmes’s talent.” An excited murmur spread across the room, heads turning towards Holmes. “He has agreed to sing us a little something,” Stamford announced.

Holmes’s eyes widened as everyone turned towards him. “I’m going to what now?”

Watson cleared his throat as he shifted away from Holmes but managed to keep their thighs touching.

“Now, it’s possible I may have forgotten to mention this to him,” Stamford admitted, making the room laugh.

Holmes looked around the table worriedly while the room shouted encouragements at him. It was somehow endearing to see Holmes so uncertain.

“Come on Holmes,” Ms Adler encouraged. “They won’t take no for an answer.”             

Watson wasn’t sure what to say. Everything he did want to say was meant for only Holmes’s ears. He bit his lip and tried to focus on being supportive. “It’s just one song. Sing whatever you feel like singing.”

Holmes paused at that. “From the Dancing Bachelor?”

Ms Adler shook her head. “No, the band won’t know those songs and it will be too complicated if to send Dimmock and the band up there with you. A known song. One that means something to you.”

Holmes frowned. “Why one that means something?”

Ms Adler smiled mischievously. “Because your performance will be better if you mean what you’re singing.”

Holmes paused and looked at her with a small frown. She leaned in to whisper in his ear. Watson couldn’t hear what she said, but he saw Holmes give her a little nod before pulling back. They looked at each other with a complicit smile before Holmes took her hand and gave it a kiss. He let go and turned to Watson, appearing to wait expectantly. Watson stared back, trying to understand what had just happened between Holmes and Ms Adler.

“Move Watson,” Ms Adler ordered.

Watson’s eyes widened a moment before he quickly slid out of the booth.

Holmes plastered on his Sigerson smile and stood. There was a murmur from the crowd as all six feet of Holmes posed for the room. Watson found himself staring like the rest of them. With his dark hair combed back with the elegant waves, his tuxedo, and shined shoes. Holmes was breath taking, and almost everyone in the room was oblivious to just how incredible he really was.

Holmes paused to look at Watson, waiting for Holmes to move to sit back down. Their eyes met, and Watson wished he could kiss him good luck.

“Come on, go show off,” Watson whispered instead.

Holmes tapped Watson on the shoulder, winked and made his way to the stage.

“There he is,” Stamford announced, squinting through the stage lights. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the star of The Dancing Bachelor, Sigerson Holmes.”

The crowd parted, freeing a passage for Holmes, patting him on the back as he went by. Once he was on stage he shook his head at Stamford, who was smiling merrily.

Holmes took the offered microphone. “You could have warned me.”

Stamford chuckled and leaned closer to speak into the microphone too. “And have the crowd miss that precious stunned face of yours?”

“You’re a menace.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Stamford shook Holmes’s hand and leaned closer, making sure to keep the microphone away. “Thank you Holmes. For everything.”

“Thank me at the Premiere.”

“Will do.” Stamford leaned away, let go of Holmes’s hand and stepped offstage.

Holmes spoke to the band to confirm they knew the song and turned to the crowd.  

“Good evening everyone, thank you for having us. Sorry for the wait, I had to um, needed help picking a song on such short notice.” Holmes paused to let the crowd laugh. “Mr Stamford, I cannot thank you enough for this opportunity. It’s my honour and pleasure to work and celebrate with you all tonight. But really Stamford, just a little warning next time? It’s not like I would have said no.” The crowd laughed once more. “Now, I don’t want to spoil the movie, so I won’t sing any of those songs.” The crowd booed. “I know, I know, but our new director insisted. Or was it the screenwriter talking?”

Watson found himself joining the crowd as they laughed. Stamford looked like he wanted to cry from joy again.

“It will be worth the wait, I swear. Instead, I’ve chosen this song because,” Holmes paused to give Watson a sidelong glance. “It’s one of those songs you wonder if it was written for you. It’s from one of my favourite movies: Born to Dance.”

Holmes signalled the band with a nod and the opening notes started. Watson recognized it immediately. Watson had to fight not to let anything show on his face. But that didn’t stop the air in his chest from disappearing when Holmes started singing.

“ _I’ve got you under my skin,_

_I’ve got you deep in the heart of me,_

_So deep in my heart, you’re really a part of me,_

_I’ve got you under my skin._ ”

The song was perfect for his voice. Added to his natural presence and his charm, Holmes had the room in the palm of his hand by the end of the first verse.

But Watson was more concerned with the song choice. This song meant something to Holmes. The words spun in Watson’s mind as he stared at Holmes, paying no attention to Ms Adler leaning closer to him.

“Remember to breathe.”

A disbelieving huff came out of Watson, triggering him to start breathing again.

_“I’ve tried so not to give in_ ,”

Ms Adler leaned her head on Watson’s shoulder as Holmes’s travelling eyes landed on Watson.

“ _I’ve said to myself this affair will never go so well_ ,”

Watson could feel his heart beating hard against his chest, hard enough to wonder if Ms Adler could hear it as well.

“ _But why should I try to resist?_

_When darling I know so well,_

_I’ve got you under my skin_ ,”

Watson was grateful Ms Adler was leaning on his shoulder, making it seem to the crowd that Holmes was singing to her. He was trying desperately to keep his face neutral, but he doubted his success. Hearing Holmes’s baritone voice saying those words, the way he was staring, Watson’s longing for Holmes was overwhelming.

“ _I’d sacrifice anything come what might_

_For the sake of having you near,”_

Watson smiled. Holmes was right, it did seem like this song was written for them.

_“In spite of the warning voice_

_That comes in the night_

_And repeat and repeats in my ear,_

_Don’t you know little fool, you never can win,_

_Use your mentality, wake up to reality,_

_But each time that I do, just the thought of you makes me stop”_

Holmes paused a beat, and Watson smirked at the dramatic effect in the silent room. Holmes really was quite a showman.

_"Before I begin, yes, I’ve got you, mmm, under my skin_ ”

The crowd broke into applause before the band could finished the last notes. Ms Adler straightened to applaud, nudging Watson to do the same, as Holmes bowed and waved.

Ms Adler leaned into whisper to Watson. “I swear, when he sings and dances, I wish he was my type.”

Watson frowned. “What do you mean?”

Ms Adler eyed Watson a moment. “You really haven’t got a clue, do you?”

“What are we talking about right now?”

Ms Adler looked around quickly, seeing Holmes being slowed down by the crowd and leaned in to whisper again. “I’ve been in a relationship with Ms Kate for nearly ten years.” She slid her hand onto Ms Kate’s thigh. Watson was surprised to see Ms Kate spread her legs and Ms Adler’s hand sliding a bit deeper. “And you’d be an idiot to let go of Holmes.”

Ms Adler finished her sentence just in time to smile and greet Holmes, who didn’t bother asking Watson to get up first, just slid in next to him. Stamford and Ms Hooper weren’t far behind him, closing off either ends of the booth to fend off visitors.

This left no time for Watson to process everything that Ms Adler had confided, not to mention what it all meant. As much as he wanted to pause and think, Watson had no control over how his mind went blank when he felt the length of Holmes’s thigh press against his.

“That was wonderful Holmes,” Ms Adler praised, her hand still on Ms Kate’s thigh.

“It was. Truly.” Watson was unable to look up, eyes focused on the condensation on his glass.

“Thank you.”

“Excellent song choice,” Watson added and cleared his throat. “Suited your voice perfectly.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Holmes pressed his thigh harder momentarily, as if to punctuate his words.

Watson’s breath caught, and he wished so very much that they weren’t the centre of attention in the middle of a very posh restaurant.

“Another twenty minutes and it’s socially acceptable to leave,” Ms Adler whispered to them.

“Oh thank God.” Watson leaned back in his seat and stared at Holmes’s thigh against his.

The twenty-minute wait was excruciatingly long to Watson, barely listening to the conversation between Ms Adler and Holmes. Thankfully they were left unbothered by the other patrons. Until they started trying to leave. Watson thought they would never make it, being constantly stopped on their way out by friends and fans.

They finally made it to the entrance hall to get their coats and slowly made their way outside to the limousines. Watson watched everyone packed in and after the evening of socialising, he felt he had reached his limit.

“I’m, um, I’m going to walk.”

Stamford turned to Watson. “It’s 32 blocks.”

“I know.”

Holmes slipped his hands into his coat pockets. “Mind if I join?”

Watson looked up and realised the opening he had accidentally created. He tried to hide his trepidation at finally being alone with Holmes. “Not at all.”

They watched the limousines ride off and without a word, they turned and started walking.

“You were really great up there Holmes.”

“Please, you saved my life; call me Sherlock.”

Watson licked his lips to hide the hitch in his breathing. “You were… amazing, Sherlock.”

Holmes blushed. “Thank you, Watson.”

He chuckled and eyed Holmes sideways. “I think you can call me John now.”

“Thank you. John.”

Watson felt himself start babbling. “I loved Born to Dance. I know Julie Wilson did a rendition in Night and Day, but I always preferred Virginia Bruce’s version.”

“Why?”

“Like Ms Adler said, the song needs to mean something to you when you perform. In Virginia Bruce’s performance you can feel her deep longing.” Watson finished his sentence and realised the other meaning it had and blushed. But it was true, had he been in Holmes’s place, as brave as he had been, he would have picked the same song.

Bracing himself, Watson eyed Holmes. “Any um, plans, when the premiere is over?”

Holmes paused before answering. “Well, I was planning on heading back to London but, well it seems this town has grown on me.”

“You mean you’re thinking of staying?”

“Well, that depends.”

“On?”

Holmes held Watson’s gaze. “How things go.”

Watson stared into those pale eyes and felt his chest fill with hope, and everything he wanted to say to Holmes. If only they weren’t in the middle of the street, with cars passing every now and then. It almost felt surreal how normal this felt, as if they hadn’t just had Frank Hudson arrested, saving Stamford’s company, and saving Holmes’s life. Sherlock’s life. They were just walking together, enjoying each other’s company. Just as they had the other night. And possibly soon again, depending on…how things went.

“How about you?” Holmes continued. “Any plans after the premiere?”

“No. No plans.” Watson licked his lips. “I uh, I haven’t got a clue what-”

Watson frowned as he trailed off. There was something about those words, the way they sounded. Ms Adler had said them earlier.

_I haven’t got a clue._

“Are you okay?” Holmes asked.

“Yeah, yes, I’m…” Watson couldn’t shake it, there was something about those words, that melody. He turned to Holmes and as he looked up, his eyes lingered on Holmes’s lips. Watson could feel the idea slip away when he focused on how much he wanted to kiss Holmes.

Watson hissed in a breath and closed his eyes to focus on the words, the melody. He shook his head and took a step back. “Oh no. No. This could not be worse timing.”

Holmes’s face was a mix of worry and hurt. “What is it?”

“This is going to sound horrible, and I swear this changes nothing about-” Watson stared at Holmes’s lips and quickly closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. “This changes nothing about you, and me, and how I would much rather stay with you right now, but…” He opened his eyes. “I have to go. Now.”

Holmes searched his face. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.” Watson could feel his chest ache at Holmes’s wounded tone. Watson took a step forward, took Holmes’s hand in his and looked up. “Sherlock, I swear, I will explain everything tomorrow.” Watson’s eyes dipped down and look away as soon as he felt this melody slip away. He had to go before he lost himself in Holmes.

“Tomorrow.” Watson whispered

Holmes clenched his jaw and nodded once before Watson squeezed his hand one last time before letting go.

Holmes kept his face schooled until Watson crossed the street at a jog and disappeared around the corner. Only then did Holmes let his shoulders drop, let his head tilt forward slowly. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and slowly walked his way back to his hotel room alone.

* * *

Watson ran most of the way to the Studio, ran up to the office. He didn’t even take off his coat, just found a pen and started writing. Once he had everything on paper, Watson made his way down to the rehearsal studio. He threw his coat on the floor, sat down at the piano in his tuxedo, and played the chord progression that kept repeating itself in his head.

**END CHAPTER 12**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene in the restaurant is one of the first scenes I wrote for this story. The song Sherlock sings, I’ve Got You Under My Skin, is one of the main inspirations for the story.  
> I know most people know Frank Sinatra’s version, but I am rather fond of Dinah Washington’s rendition. I like to imagine Sherlock’s version is somewhere in between Frank and Dinah’s.
> 
> Links to the 4 versions of I’ve Got You Under My Skin mentioned in this chapter:  
> [Virginia Bruce from Born to Dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ap9BZo18Tss)  
> [Julie Wilson from Night and Day](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NrY7kf1XkKQ)  
> [ Dinah Washington’s cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vC7n6SREFew)(The inspiration for this fic)  
> [Frank Sinatra’s cover ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1AHec7sfZ8)  
> 


	13. The Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes you get an idea and life gives you a chance to bring it to fruition.  
> Enjoy.  
> Don't forget to click the link at the end of the chapter!

**Sunday morning – 33 days to the Premiere**

**Holmes’s hotel room**

Holmes didn’t sleep that night. He felt like an idiot for singing that song to Watson. Even if Watson had tried to explain himself, it didn’t change the fact that he left. But what was the most infuriating was that it didn’t stop Holmes from hoping. After all, Watson had come back and saved him. Had looked touched and hopeful when Holmes had sang to him last night.

So why had Watson left? Holmes had spent the night trying to figure it out and he had come up empty handed. When he heard a knock on his door at seven thirty in the morning, he ran to open it, expecting Watson and an explanation.

He was rather disappointed to find Lestrade there instead.

“Oh. It’s you.”

He saw Lestrade raise an eyebrow, but Holmes didn’t care if his greeting was rude, or that he still dressed in last night’s clothes, save for the bow tie.

“Good morning to you too.”

“What do you want?”

“Watson called an emergency production meeting.”

Holmes paused. “When?”

“Now.”

Holmes grabbed his trench coat and followed Lestrade.

* * *

**Rehearsal Studio**

Watson was a mess. He had dark bags under his eyes, his tuxedo shirt covered with a lumpy jumper in the cold studio, bowtie nowhere to be found, with his hair still somewhat decent from the night before.

But that wasn’t why Watson was a mess. It’s because of what he was about to do.

Ms Hooper, Stamford, Ms Adler and Ms Kate were already there when Holmes and Lestrade walked into the rehearsal studio. They were sitting at the table, while Dimmock and Wiggins were chatting around the piano with Watson.

Watson was so nervous he felt nauseous. Holmes looked dashing even though he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink either. Just the sight of him was enough to push Watson be as brave as Holmes’s had been the night before.

“We’re all here, now will you please tell us what this is about?” Stamford was in his casual attire, but his face was all business. “Even though we’re old friends, I don’t particularly appreciate being woken up after three hours of sleep to organise an emergency meeting without so much as an explanation.”

Watson smirked. “You’re right Stamford. I apologise for waking everyone so early, especially after last night’s celebrations.” Watson paused. “But as the new director, I thought it would be best to start working on the finale as soon as possible.”

Stamford’s eyes widened. “John, do you mean…?”

“Yes Stamford, it’s done. We have a finale.”

Watson had to bite his lip not to start laughing at the face Stamford made. If they had been alone in the office, he knew Stamford would be shouting and jumping around. But he wouldn’t dare in front of everyone in the rehearsal room.

“When did this happen?” Stamford asked instead with a wide smile.

“Well, last night while we were walking, I uh,” Watson eyed Holmes. “I had a sudden idea and I didn’t want to lose it. So I came here right away and, well, here we are now.”

“You mean you stayed up all night writing?” Lestrade looked impressed.

Watson scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, that sort of… happens sometimes. So, I thought I’d play- oh!”

Watson was so focused on Holmes’s staring that he didn’t notice Stamford walk over until his arms wrap tightly around him.

Watson chuckled and patted Stamford on the part of his arm he could reach. “I was going to play it.” Watson’s eyes drifted to Holmes again.

“I would love to hear it.” Stamford pulled back and patted Watson on the back a few times. “Very much.”

“It’s pretty different.” Watson felt his pulse race. It always did before he presented a new song or script, but he knew this time he was nervous for another reason. “But it still works in the casino set. Maybe just a few changes so that-”

“Just play it Watson,” Ms Adler interrupted.

“Right, yeah.” Watson looked down and placed his hands on the piano keys. “My voice is rubbish since you know, I’ve been up all night.” He cleared his throat, played the first few chords and started setting the scene. “I had to change the dialogue of the banquet scene a bit to make it work, but mainly, Edward and Jane argue, again, she leaves, he goes looking for her to apologize. The song starts when Edward finds her.”

Watson was terrified by what he was about to do, especially in front of everyone. But it couldn’t be helped. This story wouldn’t be the same without Holmes; it made sense that he would be the inspiration for the finale song as well. Watson had taken everything he wanted to say to Holmes and had channelled it into this song, imagining himself as Edward, and Holmes as Jane. Of course, it had to stay within the context of the movie, but he was still rather pleased with the result.

Watson’s eyes drifted to Holmes, and let the emotions come up so performance would compensate for his groggy voice.

Watson took a deep breath and started singing.

_I’ve been meaning to say_

_Ever since you came my way_

_There’s just something about you_

_Everything that you do_

_If only you knew_

_That I’d follow you_

Holmes was looking at the floor, but Watson could see it affected him, even if it was subtle. He continued to the second verse.

_Never met someone like you_

_You can bet that much is true_

_Not as clever as you_

_Not as crazy as you_

_If only you knew_

_That I’m mad about you_

Holmes huffed a laugh, making Watson smile. He continued playing the melody as he explained. “Jane cuts Edward off with a blunt _You haven’t got a clue, do you?,”_ Watson enjoyed hearing Ms Adler laugh at that. “But Edward is too caught up in his head to see what’s obvious to the audience, that Jane does feel the same way.” Watson paused, fighting against the lump in his throat. “Edward misunderstands Jane, again, and tries to fix things.” Watson cleared his throat and continued singing.

_You should know it’s okay_

_If you don’t feel things that way_

_I’ll still stay here with you_

“Jane cuts Edward off again, _You haven’t got a clue_.” Watson sang in a high voice, making the room laugh. “Yeah not doing that again.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Edward replies with a very confused look: _Just haven’t have a clue_.” Making them laugh again. “The next verse is Jane’s response.” Watson licked his lips and took the leap.

_I’ve been meaning to say_

_Ever since you came my way_

_There’s just something about you_

_Everything that you do_

_If only you knew_

_That I love you_

Watson made sure to watch Holmes when he said the last lines, unable to hide the tremble in his voice as he tried to hold the note two more beats. Watson had no idea if Holmes did feel this way, but with Holmes’s song choice the previous night, Watson took the risk. Because that’s how Watson felt. That’s what was so terrifying to admit.

Holmes looked up, his eyes wide and disbelieving, and Watson didn’t try to hide how he felt: the fear, the hope, the love.

Watson only broke eye contact to focus on the song. “Then they, um, dance for a bit.” With his heart in his throat, Watson was grateful to have the instrumental part to get his emotions under control. “Then Jane and Edward sing in harmony.”

_Why try to deny_

_I’ve only felt alive_

_With you by my side_

_I haven’t got a clue_

_But I’ve got you_

_I haven’t got a clue_

_But I’ve got you_

Watson played the last notes and looked up, curious why the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

He scratched the back of his head. “Was it that bad?”

Everyone started speaking at the same time, making Watson dizzy, even more so when Stamford started hugged him again. Everyone except Holmes. He was staring at Watson very hard, enough to make Watson concerned.

Ms Adler also noticed and slid her arm around Holmes, whispering something in his ear. Holmes seemed to shake himself and when Watson saw the bright smile on his face he felt his heart ache.

“Stamford,” Ms Hooper cut in. “We should start getting ready for the press conference.”

Stamford pulled back from his hug and smiled at Watson. “Yes, that’s right. And you’re the new director, you need to be there.”

Watson looked down at his jumper covered tuxedo. “Right, right, I’ll go change upstairs. But I’d like to start rehearsing the Finale when we get back.”

“No problem, I’ll start working on the arrangements,” Dimmock stretched his arms to get the sheet music.

“Yeah, and I already have ideas for the choreography,” Wiggins added and pointed to Holmes and Ms Adler. “You’ll want to change.”

Holmes turned to Stamford. “I thought we were also going to the press conference?” Waving between himself and Ms Adler.

“No, officially you aren’t involved in this investigation, remember? You weren’t even kidnapped,” Stamford replied. “You and Ms Adler should stay here to rehearse.”

Watson stood to head up to Stamford’s office to change and freshen up. “I shouldn’t be long.”

Watson’s eyes met Holmes’s before letting the door close behind him.

* * *

**Stamford’s office**

There was a knock on the door when Watson was putting on a fresh button up shirt.

“Come in,” Watson called with butterflies in his stomach, almost certain he knew who it was.

Holmes appeared in the doorway, and Watson’s fingers forgot how to work. He had been so concerned with Holmes’s reaction to the song that suddenly being alone with him felt terrifying, even though there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

Holmes closed the door and leaned his back against it.

“I’m sorry for leaving you like that,” Watson said before Holmes could say anything.

Holmes shook his head and pushed off the door. “I always put my work first, I can’t blame you for doing the same.”

“No.” Watson shook his head. “Holmes, Sherlock, I’m sorry I had to run off, but I…” Watson’s eyes dipped down to Holmes’s lips. “When I’m around you I,” he took a step closer and looked up into Holmes’s pale clever eyes. “I lose my train of thought. I had to go before I lost the song.”

Holmes looked like he was having trouble breathing.

Watson bit his lip, took another step and continued before he lost his nerve. “Did you mean it? What you sang last night?”

“Every word.” Holmes said without a hint of doubt in his voice.

Watson felt his heart in his throat, felt the floor about to crumble under him.

“And you? Did you mean it? What you wrote?” Holmes asked in return, looking just as overwhelmed.

Watson kept his eyes on Holmes as he took a final step, close enough to kiss. “Every word.” The steadiness of his voice surprised Watson, even if it was barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, to remember the moment but mostly out of fear that the next step would somehow ruin everything. But the pull between them was too strong to resist. They were in each other’s arms in an instant, lips coming together in a bruising kiss. Watson didn’t care if it made him whimper, didn’t care if they were in Stamford’s office, he manoeuvred Holmes against the door and kissed him like their lives depended on it.

They only broke apart to breathe, foreheads pressed against one another.

“You do realise you’re contradicting yourself,” Holmes teased.

“How so?”

“You said people don’t actually use a song and dance routine to declare their love in real life.”

Watson burst out laughing at the call back to their first argument. “You’re right, I did say that.” He shook his head. They had come such a long way since then. “I also said people do crazy things for love. I think this counts.”

“Yes, this would qualify as a bit over the top.”

“Well,” Watson lost himself in Holmes’s eyes. “I thought you’d enjoy the dancing.”

“It’s beautiful.”

There was something about Holmes’s delivery that emphasized how the word was inadequate to describe his sentiment, but also told Watson how much the song had meant to him.

“A bold choice of lyrics,” Holmes continued. 

Watson bit his lip. He knew Holmes was referring to the _I love you_ line. "Well, I also had to make it work in the context of the movie-"

Holmes cut him off. "Good lord, you really haven't got a clue do you?" 

Watson huffed a laugh. "Apparently."

Holmes stared at him before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. "Of course I love you." 

Watson bit back the lump in his throat and blinked away the tears. “I love you too.”

The kiss that followed was brief, dissolving into a tight embrace as they both breathed through the emotion.

Watson pulled back after a long moment, kissing Holmes’s jaw along the way and kissed him again, deeply. Watson didn’t want to pull stop, but this wasn’t the place for things to get heated. He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against Holmes’s. “As much as I hate to say so, I have to get ready for the press conference.”

“Tedious.”

“Yes, but necessary.”

“So is this.” Holmes switched their position, pushing Watson against the door and kissing him fiercely, making him forget about everything else. When Holmes pulled away, Watson couldn’t stop the little whine of protest.

“Come over tonight.”

Holmes bit his lip and nodded.

“Good. Good. Okay.” Watson eyed Holmes’s lips. “Come on, get out of here before they send someone.”

Holmes must have noticed where he was looking because he was slowly leaning closer. Watson huffed a small laugh before flipping their position and pressing Holmes against the door one last time, kissing and wrapping his arms around him, committing as many details to memory as he could. They broke apart, and even though Watson knew he should take a step back, he took one look at Holmes’s blissful eyes and couldn’t help cupping his cheek and gently kissing him one last time.

“Tonight,” Watson whispered against his lips.

Holmes kept his eyes closed after the kiss, opening them just before answering, “Tonight.”

* * *

**Sunday afternoon – 33 days to the Premiere**

**Press conference**

The procedure was different then what Stamford was used to. The room was filled with movie journalists, but also the criminal investigation crowd. And instead of a table with individual microphones, all they had was a podium that Jones seemed to have decided was his personal property. He had almost seemed angry to have to move aside to let Stamford speak.

“If it weren’t for Captain Jones and his team, I daresay this movie never would have had the chance to see the light of day.” Stamford eyed Jones with a grateful smile. “Thankfully, Frank Hudson is in their custody and awaits trial. Words can’t express the gratitude I have towards you Captain Jones, and the Los Angeles Police Department for uncovering this scheme that took the life of our dear Philip Anderson.” Stamford stepped away from the podium and went to stand behind it with the others.

“We’ll be taking questions now,” Jones called, and the room burst alive.

“What about the escape of Jimmy Morgan, aka James Moriarty?”

Jones answered. “We have a portrait of Moriarty and his associate Janine Hawkins circulating in police departments and airports across the country. We are not letting them get away so easily.”

“Who’s going to replace him as director?” another reporter asked.

Jones pursed his lips and left the podium to Stamford.

“I’m happy to announce that John Watson, our scriptwriter, will be directing the remainder of the movie.” Stamford turned to Watson and signalled him to take a step forward.

With the best smile Watson could muster, he stepped forward and waved at the crowd. The few cameras in the room went off, the sound of flashbulbs taking Watson by surprise, but he managed to keep his smile.

“Watson, is this your first time directing?”

Watson nodded. “Yes, it is.” He answered without speaking into the microphone, making the room laugh. Stamford ushered him to the podium. “Yes, it is.” Watson repeated. “As you can tell, it’s also my first press conference.” he added, making the room laugh.

“Nervous about directing for the first time?”

“Not really, I mean, I’ve already had this story in my head for a while. We have a great crew and a wonderful cast to work with. But you’ll be the judge when the movie comes out in… wow, a month.” Watson whistled. “Yeah, alright, I’m a bit worried now.”

The reporters laughed, and a pleased smile grew on Stamford’s face.

“But honestly, I have the easy job here,” Watson continued. “Stamford managed to get Ms Irene Adler, who is such a professional and a joy to work with, and Holmes, whom I admit I had my doubts about in the beginning, as in calling Stamford a madman, but he has proven to be not only a perfect fit for the part, but destined for great things. They are great together. So much so that I’m almost useless. I just have to say action and cut.” Watson let them laugh before adding. “But seriously, tragedy and drug cartels aside, we are all proud of this movie and can’t wait to share it with you all. I hope you’ll all come and see The Dancing Bachelor, the movie that survived the Hudson Cartel.”

* * *

**Sunday afternoon – Rehearsal Studio**

It was almost three when they made it back to the studio. Wiggins made Stamford, Ms Hooper and Watson sit as soon as they arrived, so they could show them what they had been working on during the press conference.

Watson didn’t try to fight the smile on his face. He always was a bit thrilled when he saw one of his songs coming to life for the first time but this... this was overwhelming joy. He was about to watch Holmes perform a song meant for him. Sing the words Watson wanted to tell him. Watson had to push down the urge to giggle incredulously.

Ms Adler took on her mark downstage left, as Dimmock started playing the opening notes. When Holmes stepped in and started singing Watson had to cover his mouth with his hand. It was surreal, hearing Holmes’s beautiful voice sing those words, words that would forever be immortalized in the movie.

They were at the end of the first verse when Watson shook himself enough to pay attention to what was happening in front of him. Wiggins’s choreography was good, and Holmes and Adler were great and yet something felt amiss. Watson wondered if he was too blinded by the real meaning of the song or if there really was something off about the narrative of the scene.

But that didn’t tarnish the wonderful joy of seeing them perform, the relief of having finally written the finale, the anticipation of Holmes coming over tonight.

_I haven’t got a clue_

_But I’ve got you_

Edward and Jane harmonised the last chorus and embraced. Watson didn’t remember mentioning it this morning, much too preoccupied by Holme’s reaction. Yet it was somehow exactly as he had pictured it. Along with the memory of their kiss in Stamford’s office, Watson found tears on his cheeks as he watched them kiss.

Stamford and Ms Hooper stood and clapped, the sound shaking Watson back into the moment. He quickly wiped the tears and stood to applaud with them. Wiggins and Dimmock joined Holmes and Ms Adler to bow, but Watson only had eyes for Holmes.

Stamford slapped Watson on the back. “I think we’ve got a hit.”

Watson huffed, but he was pleased to hear it. He turned to the eagerly awaiting performers. “That was amazing.”

“You think so?” Dimmock asked, looking sceptical.

“Of course it was. It was extraordinary, how did you even manage all this in such a short time?”

“That’s not what directors normally say,” Dimmock commented.

Watson frowned. “And what do they normally say?”

Dimmock turned to Wiggins, who turned to Watson. “Well, first off we wouldn’t have made it to the end.”

Watson laughed. “Okay, what else?”

“That we got it all wrong.” Wiggins continued, with Dimmock nodding next to him.

“Well, you didn’t get it wrong.” Watson reassured, then paused. “However-”

“There it is.” Wiggins crossed his arms.

“I was picturing it a bit more…” Watson fought the urge to look at Holmes. “Intimate.”

Wiggins turned to Dimmock.

“Do you mean going acoustic or?”

“No, that would clash with the rest of the movie,” Watson explained. “Just- not a big number with fireworks and a hundred dancers.”

“Okay.” Dimmock thought a moment. “Maybe… mostly piano, a few strings for the dancing bit, but still end with something soft for the kiss?”

Watson felt his throat constrict at the mention of the kiss and nodded. “Yeah, that works.”

“Does that mean you want to keep the dancing to a minimum?” Wiggins asked.

“Yes.”

Wiggins looked insulted. “Why?”

“Edward is trying to apologize for the first two verses, it doesn’t make sense that they dance from the beginning.”

“I told you so,” Holmes muttered.

“Don’t you start again,” Wiggins warned.

Watson bit back his smile and licked his lips. “Could they just… act it out? And keep the dancing for the instrumental part?”

“Act it out?”

“Yes, act out the song, the words.” Watson turned to Holmes and Ms Adler. “Could you improvise?”

“Now?”

“Yes, just to get us going.”

Holmes turned to Adler. She smiled and grabbed his hand. “Sure we can. Let’s set the scene.” She dragged Holmes to his mark. “You stand there, I’ll be here.” She walked about ten feet away, “Now, we just had an argument because you’re an idiot.”

Watson huffed a laugh.

“Hey,” Holmes protested feebly.

Adler batted her eyelashes at him, “I mean Edward is an idiot, and I’ve just run off angry, and now I’m standing here contemplating how much of an arse you were, and you come in. Is that about right, Watson?”

Watson pursed his lips and eyed Holmes a moment before answering Ms Adler. “Seems about it, yeah.”

“Good.” Ms Adler took a dramatic pose. “Hit it Dimmock.”

Watson laughed as the first chords rang and Adler’s face morphed into a scowl that was a perfect caricature of Holmes. If Watson had any doubts if she knew what the song really was about, it was clear now. “Wow. That is _exactly_ it.”

Holmes shook his head before making his entrance. For some reason he hopped over the chair that was a between himself and Ms Adler.

Watson frowned, as did everyone else. “Stop,” he called and turned to Holmes. “What was that?”

“You said to improvise.”

“And that lead you to jumping because…?”

Holmes took a deep breath and looked directly at Watson as he spoke. “If you plan to make this scene intimate, you’ll want to prevent unnecessary shots. Due to the geography of the set and the position of the camera, my entrance would require a shot to show my going down the steps rather than focusing on the character’s emotions. Which means I should jump over the ramp when I come in.” Holmes wondered why Watson looked amused.

Watson tilted his head to the side. Holmes was right, but Watson wasn’t going to concede so easily. “You mean like the last time you jumped over a ramp and smashed your face on the floor?”

“It was staged stunt.”

“A staged _accident_ , which required stitches.” Watson disagreed.

“It helped further the investigation.”

Watson scoffed. “No it didn’t. Ms Rosie wasn’t even there.”

The argument was cut short by Ms Hooper. “As entertaining as it is to watch you two argue, we should get things moving along.”

Watson took a deep breath. “Ms Hooper is right, as always. Let’s cut this short. You’re saying this time the plan is _not_ to fall on your face?”

Holmes rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Right then. Try the jump, carefully, and we’ll decide if we keep it.”

Holmes looked confused. “Really?”

Watson found that adorable. How could he refuse Holmes? “Yes, come on now, let’s get moving.”

“Right, okay.”

Holmes went to his mark, and after a beat jumped over the chair and landed it perfectly, looking terribly smug.

“It was…” Watson tilted his head to the side, “interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Try it again as Edward, not as a smug Holmes.”

“Hey!”

Dimmock and Wiggins burst out laughing.

Holmes turned to Ms Hooper. “What do you think?”

Ms Hooper blushed. “A bit smug, yes.”

Holmes scoffed while Watson smirked.

Ms Adler weighed in. “Jane wouldn’t like it.”

“She’s right,” Watson said.

Ms Adler flipped her hair. “Of course I’m right.”

Watson sat back down in his chair. “Try it again, just tone it down a bit.”.

Holmes opened his mouth to protest and shut it, took his mark and did it again. His landing was undeniably Edward-ish.

Watson smiled to Holmes. “Yep, that works. Keep the jump. Now start from the top and improvise the song, do what feels in character, have fun with it. After we’ll see what we keep and where we integrate dancing.”

“Should we sing?”

“Sing if you can, but it’s okay if you mess up the words, just focus on the story for now.”

Wiggins joined Stamford, Watson, Ms Hooper and Ms Kate as the audience, while Dimmock played the piano. Holmes and Ms Adler were a joy to watch together, see them try to surprise one another, make the other break character. By the end they got carried away showing off, but the overall effect worked well with what Watson had in mind. They just needed to refine it a bit.

The rehearsal went at a steady pace, mostly due to Ms Hooper preventing Watson and Holmes’s arguments from getting out of hand. The important thing was that by the end they had an almost finished finale number. It still needed tweaking and rehearsals, but as a first rehearsal as director, Watson had given the tone to the crew for how filming would resume the next day.

Ms Hooper called the end of the rehearsal and as everyone prepared to leave, Watson nodded to Holmes.

“You, uh,” Watson looked around to make sure everyone was out of earshot, “want to share a cab?”

“Sure.”

“Watson,” Ms Hooper called. “Sorry to cut in but we still have the schedule to finish going over.”

Watson rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a tight smile. “Right, right sorry, I forgot.”

Ms Hooper’s eyes widened. “Oh, you must be exhausted, I forgot you stayed up all night writing. We should be done in an hour or so.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, I’ll be right there.” Watson waited for Ms Hooper to step away and turned to Holmes with an apologetic look. “So… I’ll um, see you later?”

Holmes watched Watson through his lashes. “I’ll be there at eight.” He let his eyes linger on his lips a beat before winking.

Watson watched him disappear behind the door, heart beating loudly in his chest, reminding himself to breathe. He still had a lot to do before their evening together.

**END CHAPTER 13**

**LINK TO VIDEO OF THE FINALE SONG IN THE NOTES**

Yes, you read that correctly. I wrote an original song and made a video with it.

Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [LINK TO FINALE VIDEO OF “I Haven’t Got A Clue”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFRNHqzfIbA)  
>  This would be the "surprise" I had been hinting at in the opening notes.  
> This video had 0$ budget, 3 months of pre-production, 3 hours of rehearsal on site and 3 hours of filming (and very little sleep).  
> But it would not have been possible without the following AWESOME people:  
> @novemberhush for the story prompt. None of this would have happened if your idea hadn’t been posted on tumblr.  
> The Fic Writers’ Retreat in Barrie, Ontario, Canada. Thank you to the (now closed) Kempenfelt Convention Center for letting us use their wedding dance floor setup to film (free of charge! Thank God there was a wedding the next day). And to the wonderful @hubblegleeflower for organising the retreat and letting this crazy idea happen.  
> Thank you to @nautilicious for her beautiful soprano voice and for playing the fabulous Irene Adler (I know we can see her tattoos. Does it really matter? Those are awesome tattoos.). You picked up the choreography so quickly and nailed Irene/Jane, I could not have asked for a better partner to dance and sing with.  
> Thank you to the wonderful @aquabelacqua for playing John Watson (That jumper!). I still can’t get over that grin. Kills me every time.  
> Thank you to the extraordinary Zala for filming, stage directions and helping us with choreography, not to mention how you are a wonderful joyous person. Thank you again for listening to me while I freaked out about how the hell we were going to pull this off. I hope you can make it to the next retreat!  
> Thank you to my dear friend G.A. for being the rehearsal Jane so we could work out the choreography, film it and send it to @nautilicious to learn. And acting tips! (not sure how that worked out though)  
> Thank you to the great M.T. for taking my crappy fluffy song and turning it into a something that could believably have been written in that era. (or you know, passable enough to make this video)  
> Thank you to the wonderful @may-shepard for not just reblogging the prompt and nudging me just enough to write the thing, but for being a wonderful beta that supported and helped me get through writing and posting. This fic would not be as shiny and wonderful without your help. You all need to go read her fic The Burning Heart if you haven’t yet.  
> Writing and filming this was a crazy ride, and I still can’t quite believe it really happened and that it’s posted after over a year of work (SO MUCH WORK).  
> 


	14. The Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner take 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the last two chapters weren't fluffy enough...
> 
> WARNING: Fluffy Explicit content ahead.

**Sunday night – 33 days to the Premiere**

A loud crash came from inside Watson’s flat when Holmes knocked. Is was quite the opposite reaction of the last time he had knocked, with Watson trying to silently approach the door. To think it had only been four days ago. It felt like longer for Holmes. Much had happened since then. Mainly his kidnapping. But Holmes was more focused on the result, which brought him here, tonight.

Holmes listened to the commotion coming from the inside with a frown before the door opened in a rush. Watson’s hair ruffled as he stood with his arm extended, holding the door open. He had changed into a white button-down shirt with a black jumper, making him look terribly handsome despite his exhaustion. Even if he looked equal parts terrified and excited. Until their eyes met and a wide smile grew on Watson’s face.

There was a pause before Watson started rambling. “Hi, hi, come in, come in but um, just give me, I sort of-” He pointed over his shoulder to the kitchen.

What looked like tonight’s pasta sauce was spread across the stove and floor. Watson hadn’t mentioned anything about dinner earlier. Then again, they hadn’t talked much. Their time alone in Stamford’s office was spent on more important things, like kissing and declaring their love to one another.

“Oh. You made dinner.” Holmes noticed the candle on the table as he closed the door behind him.

Watson paused. “Well, I haven’t eaten yet, and from what you’ve told me you don’t eat during cases.” He looked hopeful. “Now that this case is solved, I figured you wouldn’t put up much of a fight.”

Holmes took off his coat. “Technically it’s still ongoing, but for all intents and purposes, I guess it can be considered solved.” He hung his coat and turned back to Watson who was already heading toward the kitchen.

“Can I help?” Holmes didn’t really want to help clean up, but it seemed like the proper thing to say.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it. I think I managed to save enough to eat. Something to drink? I have wine.”

Holmes paused. Watson made dinner. With wine. And a candle.

“This is a date.”

Holmes didn’t realise he had said that aloud until Watson turned around.

“I was hoping it could be.” Watson said tentatively. “I’ve… never been on a date with a man.”

They stared at each other from either end of the small flat as Holmes processed the implications of what Watson had just said. It seemed Watson had misinterpreted his observation as a negative reaction. It wasn’t. Holmes had simply assumed they would pick up where they had left off in Stamford’s office. The thought of a date hadn’t even crossed his mind. Then again, his knowledge of relationships and romance was limited, as Watson had pointed out during their first argument. It never was something that mattered to Holmes, romance. It always appeared trivial, not worth his time. But now that he was the one being romanced, Holmes was starting to understand the appeal. 

Then again, Holmes shouldn’t be surprised Watson had a romantic side. After all, he had just declared his love with a song. A dinner date seemed trivial in comparison.

He realised he had been silent for much too long when Watson started worrying his lip.

Holmes blinked a few times. “You mean the other night doesn’t count?”

“The other night?”

“If you consider spending the evening having dinner followed by sex a date, it’s essentially identical to the other night, save for the fact we didn’t do any breaking and entering tonight.”

Holmes rather enjoyed watching Watson’s cheeks become a lovely tinge of pink.

Watson licked his lips. “I guess you’re right, it was our first date.”

“Of course I’m right.”

Watson huffed a laugh and shook his head.

“Although, I do have a request.” Holmes asked as Watson headed to the wine bottle on the table.

“Oh?”

“Can we at least try to make it to the bed this time? My back was killing me the next day and we have a long day tomorrow.”

Holmes thoroughly enjoyed watching Watson freeze with the bottle in his hand, the blush spread from his cheeks to his ears.

“Wine?” Holmes said with a raised eyebrow.

The suggestion seemed to shake Watson into action. “Right, yeah.” And proceeded to pour them both a glass.

“Thank you Watson.”

“John.”

_John_.

“Thank you, John.”

“You’re welcome Sherlock.”

There was something about the way his name sounded on John’s lips that made Sherlock shiver.

They clinked their glasses and as their eyes met, Sherlock was pleased to see whatever they had shared in Stamford’s office that morning was still there. A part of him wanted to kiss John right away but Sherlock knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. And the dinner ritual was important to John. He didn’t want to risk ruining things so quickly.

Sherlock kept his eyes on John as he sipped what he had expected to be cheap wine and was surprised to find it was excellent.

“A gift.” John explained. “I had been waiting for a special occasion to open it.”

“I’m honoured.”

Sherlock had observed 14 types of smile from John, but there was something about this one in particular that was… fascinating. It made John radiant, as if it could illuminate a darkened room or give hope where all seemed lost. The visual hallucinations from the LSD came to mind, the millions of tiny light crystals that made John glow, shine, and radiate. Because that’s how Sherlock felt when John smiled like this.

John looked away and cleared his throat, mumbling something about going back to cleaning up the spilled sauce. Sherlock wondered if he had been staring again. Most likely. He lost track of time around John sometimes.

“So,” Sherlock started, unsure what to say. Even if he felt he had mastered the art of chit chat and charm in the last few weeks, if felt odd in this context. It was a meaningless pleasantry used to navigate the movie industry. John wasn’t meaningless. Far from it. “Have you written anything new?”

“Actually, I did!” John said with a laugh. “I stayed up all night and wrote a song for this movie I’m directing.” He stood now that the floor was clean and started on the stovetop.

“Have you ever thought of directing?”

“I can’t say I haven’t. Mostly when I started out working for Stamford. But once I saw what it really was, I don’t know, I preferred to stay away from… everything.”

“Everything?”

“The networking and dinners and general arse kissing.”

Sherlock huffed a laugh. He certainly understood that. “And now?”

“Well, I can’t really say no in these circumstances.”

“You could.”

“Yeah, but I won’t.”

“So?”

John’s scrubbing slowed as he thought about it. “I guess the thrill of finishing this project in its last hours is appealing. No time for nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

John straightened his back, mimicked throwing a scarf over his shoulder and stared at Sherlock. “Now say the line as if you’re the Queen’s dog sitting on her lap posing for a painting.”

Sherlock burst out laughing.

“I want you to lead with your left wrist and forehead.” John continued, deadpan. “Say it like you’re a hungry horse and she’s a bale of hay.”

John’s imitation was spot on. Sherlock hadn’t laughed this much in years. It had been so painful for him to deal with Morgan, Moriarty’s director persona, and not be able to say anything. If Ms Adler hadn’t been there with him, he would have disappeared after the first day of principal photography.

“He was insufferable.” John continued. “I hate directors like that. I hope I won’t be like that.”

“You won’t,” Sherlock reassured. “In fact, this afternoon was the most fun I’ve had since this whole thing started.”

“I’m… glad to hear that.” John said as he finished cleaning the stove. “Does that mean that you might consider a career as an actor?”

“No, God no.”

“So no sequel?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask? Have you started writing something?”

“No, no I was just asking.” John muttered and turned away to start plating the pasta.

Sherlock knew he was lying, not just by his behaviour, but by the neat stack of paper by his typewriter. He didn’t insist. Instead he watched John trying to not look nervous as he carried the plates over to the table.

Sherlock wasn’t surprised to see John had given him most of the leftover sauce. “Thank you.” He made a show of his first bite for John’s benefit and hummed. “Delicious.”

“Thank you.”

They ate in silence for a bit, and even though he noticed the other night, it still struck Sherlock how comfortable he was. How they could just sit together in silence, enjoying each other’s company. He’d never enjoyed company. Most people were so… boring, predictable, and generally annoying. But not John. Certainly not John.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

John nodded his acknowledgement as he chewed.

“How did you find me?”

John looked surprised and quickly swallowed his bite. “You don’t remember?”

“The LSD seems to have affected my memory. And even though I was there when Lestrade gave our deposition to the LAPD, most of what I remember are the hallucinations.”

When he had woken up in his bed at the hotel, Sherlock had barely remembered getting dropped off by Stamford, and almost forgot what they had discussed. Same for his kidnapping: most of what Sherlock remembered was John emitting light, Moriarty in the half light and Ms Rosie falling back into darkness. 

John took a sip of wine and leaned back in his chair with a grave look. “Well, Lestrade noticed you were missing about an hour after the day was wrapped. We searched the studio, and I ended up in the infirmary again. And then… I don’t know why, but I remembered your comment about the horrible carpet. I mean, it’s a storage room, what is a carpet doing there?”

Holmes nodded and was pleased to see John deducing, even if it was something obvious.

“That’s when I found the entrance to the tunnels.”

_Prohibition tunnels._

The words echoed in his mind, a vague memory of John covered in light diamond, and everything fell into place. Damn Moriarty for being so clever. Of course, the studio offered a perfect hidden entry point. They could have trucks coming in and out at any hour and no one would think twice about a studio working odd hours.

“Stupid.” Sherlock exclaimed. “How did I not figure that out?”

Moriarty must have staged everything from the last movie getting bad reviews, to getting word around about Jimmy Morgan’s brilliant up and coming career as a director so Stamford would be interested in hiring him. This must have taken months to set up. Sherlock had to admit it was a good plan. Not good enough to fool him completely, but still commendable.

“I warned Lestrade as soon as I understood what I had found,” John continued. “He stayed above ground to wait for the police. I managed to find you by following the voices. I got there while Moriarty was doing his monologue. That bloody snake. A part of me wasn’t really surprised he’s some sort of criminal.”

Sherlock didn’t remember everything Moriarty had said. Enough to be intrigued. Enough to be able to admit to himself that he was a worthy opponent. Enough to know it was likely they would meet again.

But tonight wasn’t about work.

“Then Frank Hudson and Ms Hawkins came to warn the police were coming and then everything just-” John cut himself off and took a sip of wine. “Lestrade and the police arrived shortly after, they went after Moriarty and Ms Hawkins and took care of Hudson while I untied you.”

Sherlock gave him a long look. Of what he remembered, John hadn’t looked agitated after having cut off his ties to the chair, or as he lead him out the tunnels, or at the police department. Which meant the anxiety John was exhibiting was due to something else. Sherlock had a few theories, but they were all related to sentiment. To prevent any further misunderstandings, Sherlock decided to ask rather than deduce.

“Are you all right?”

John frowned. “What do you mean? Of course I’m alright.”

“You did kill a woman.”

John’s breath caught and looked away a moment. “Yes. Yes that’s true.”

When he turned back, Sherlock recognized the look in his eye. It was similar to the day John had stormed into rehearsal demanding an explanation for the script notes, but this wasn’t irritation, this was… seething anger. It was fascinating to watch him struggle back into his composed self.

John pursed his lips. “But she wasn’t a very nice woman.”

“No. No she wasn’t, was she?”

“And a bloody awful nurse.”

The next moment they both dissolved into laughter.

As Sherlock had said the first time he met John: screenwriter barely covered it. John was a man who purposely chose to learn to save lives while learning to take them. A man capable of killing a drug chemist one night and spending the next one writing a love song.

John was exceptional.

As their laughter died down, John’s fond look gradually became grave. “Sherlock, when I saw you there, I…” He inhaled and straightened his shoulders. “I meant what I wrote,” John continued with a hoarse voice. “I haven’t got a clue Sherlock. I have no idea how to make our relationship work. Until I woke up with you in my arms, the very possibility never even crossed my mind. And the more I thought about you, about us, the more I... hoped. Hoped that this could all somehow work. So when she-” John clenched his jaw and something dark flashed in his eyes. “I will never forget seeing her aim at your head.”

John’s posture shifted, ready to fight, as if his muscle memory had been triggered. Sherlock’s heart battered against his chest, entranced by the deadly look in his eye.

“And I will never regret shooting first.” John breathed through his nose and unclenched his fists. He took a sip of wine and continued. “I have no idea what lies ahead. I know it’s not going to be easy. But I’m ready to do what it takes to make it work, if it means I get to be with you.”

Sherlock found he had a lump in his throat and needed a moment before he could manage to speak.

“You were right.”

John blinked. “About?”

“Me. I know nothing.”

Sherlock never knew it could be like this. Not only that someone like John could exist, but that he’d want to be with him. It had always seemed impossible, even if he kept telling himself it was improbable. And here was the improbable, offering him a life he never dared to hope for.

“I know nothing, because everyone who’s attempted a relationship with me left.” Sherlock paused, unsure how to broach the subject without causing any misunderstandings. “John, I want you to understand what you’re getting into. Once filming is over and we’re in a more domestic setting I...” Sherlock took a deep breath and looked John straight in the eye. “You should know that I am an unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all round obnoxious arsehole. I have erratic sleeping patterns, a science lab set up in my kitchen, and sometimes I don’t talk for days. I like to play violin when I think-”

“You play the violin?”

“The point is,” Sherlock continued, trying not to focus on why John was smiling at him like that. “Meeting you... meeting you is been best thing that ever happened to me. Even though I am inexperienced in intimate relationships, I promise you that I will do everything I can to do better. To be better. A better man. If it means you’ll stay.”

Something happened with John’s face. It took a moment for Sherlock to remember where he had seen that look before. It was the same one as that night, when John had laid him down after they had both come. The memory of John’s fingers brushing his hair was faint, because all his focus had been on the way John was looking down at him. Sherlock decided to call it John’s loving look.

“Like I said the other night: I’m not going anywhere.”

Sherlock paused. The words reminded him of something while he was under the effects of the LSD. It was more an impression than a memory. John’s arms holding him steady, feeling safe, feeling… at home. Sherlock was grateful to get a chance to hear the words and remember them this time.

“Which means that I have no choice but to admit the story of The Dancing Bachelor is, in fact, realistic,” Sherlock continued, enjoying the sound of John laughing. “Now that I’ve had the chance to experience something similar to Edward and Jane’s story, well, love is capable of murder; reconsidering my celibacy and commitment to my work seem trivial in comparison. After all, your contribution did help solve the case, I would be an idiot not to ask if you’d be interested in working with me on a regular basis.”

Of everything Sherlock had just said, this seemed to surprise John the most. “You’re serious?”

“Of course. You’ve proven yourself quite valuable. And you’d have plenty of time to write between cases. Lestrade keeps saying I need someone to keep an eye on me. Apparently, I keep getting myself into dangerous situations.”

Sherlock enjoyed the hitch in John’s breath at the mention of danger.

“Here or in London?” John asked.

“Does it matter?”

John’s loving look somehow managed to intensify. It motivated Sherlock to finish his glass of wine.

“Did you need help with the washing up?”

“No,” John shook his head. “No washing up.” He licked his lips.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

They seemed to move at the same time, almost pouncing at one another as they stood from their chairs and embraced. There was no hesitation in their movements. Only relief of finally being in each other’s arms. John’s lips were the only thing Sherlock could focus on, until he felt John pressing into his thigh. A whimper escaped the kiss. Sherlock couldn’t tell whom it was from.

“Bed. Now. Or I’m having you on the kitchen table.” John warned against his lips.

Sherlock’s mind stuttered to halt as he imagined being taken on the floor. It took John’s hands pushing his hips to process the request. His feet started to move, but Sherlock was making it difficult by refusing to stop kissing John during their transit. It resulted in Sherlock falling back on the bed when the back of his knees hit the mattress. It was worth the loss of contact for the sight of John crawling up his body.

Even though this wasn’t their first time, the urgency was still there, heightened by the recent life-threatening events. The feel of John’s weight was delightful, as was his lips and tongue and light thrusting.

Somehow Sherlock still couldn’t quite believe he was here, in John’s arms. That they had confirmed they loved each other, wanted to be together, no matter what. The thought caused the pressure in his chest to expand. It was odd, different than the feeling he’d had the last few days. This felt like… overwhelming joy. It compelled Sherlock wrap his arms around John and kiss him harder, as if they could somehow become one if he held him tightly enough. The rational part of Sherlock’s brain knew it was impossible, but it didn’t stop him from trying. The deep need to hold John was so intense Sherlock had to break the kiss and bury his face in John’s neck.

“You okay?”

The question was so absurd to Sherlock it made him want to laugh. Of course he was okay, he was fantastic, never been better. He released John enough to look at him. He wasn’t expecting to see a look of concern, even less to feel John’s fingers wipe tears from his cheeks.

“Fine. Good. Perfect.”

Sherlock leaned in to kiss him once more, delighted to feel John cup his cheek and deepen the kiss. He had no idea how long they laid there together, but it was long enough for Sherlock to confirm that he would never tire of kissing John.

Just like the other night, he was so focused on kissing John that Sherlock’s body started moving on its own. Guided by its need for pleasure, his legs wrapped around John’s hips. His hands stroking John’s back and shoulders, letting his nails trail down the offensive shirt on his back. Sherlock wanted to feel his skin. Needed to. He started pulling at John’s shirt, tugging it out of his trousers while small moans of struggle escaped their kiss.

John sat back to pull his shirt off, but Sherlock didn’t want to break apart. His hands and mouth followed him up, sitting up in the process. He kissed John’s chest, over the fabric before it was taken off. Sherlock found himself wrapping his arms around John and pressing his face against his bare skin.

John rubbed Sherlock’s back as he listened to John’s heartbeat and laboured breaths. It took Sherlock a moment to notice John was now trying to take off his clothes. Sherlock reluctantly unwrapped his arms and helped John pull off his shirt.

Before Sherlock could manage to wrap himself around John again, he was pushed to lie back down. Whatever protests that started to emerge simmered down when Sherlock felt John’s skin on his own.

It would have been simpler for John to stand to take off his trousers, but that would imply getting up, which was unacceptable to Sherlock. He made sure to kept John there with one arm while he helped him tug off his trousers and pants with the other. The process took much longer than necessary. Mainly due to John’s fascinating ability to shut down Sherlock’s brain functions with a combination of lip and tongue. If Sherlock didn’t know better, he would think John was toying with him on purpose. It didn’t matter, not if it meant John would continue kissing him like that.

John caught Sherlock’s bottom lip between his before he trailed a line of kisses downward. Sherlock enjoyed the feel of John’s his lips, tongue and teeth explore the length of his neck. He seemed to be taking his time, just as he had done all evening.

Sherlock cupped the back of John’s head, encouraging him to continue whatever it was he was doing to his neck that was making his eyes roll back and sent electric shocks down his back. It was bewitching, how John could make him feel so much with so little effort. Sherlock couldn’t stop squirming, grinding his hips against John, his body looking for friction. Ignoring his needy whimpers, John continued his way down Sherlock’s torso, stopping to lick his nipples. Sherlock found the idea surprising. He’d never even considered those as erogenous zones on a man. Never bothered to try. But they certainly were, and they were making Sherlock arch under John’s dexterous tongue.

John continued his way down, adding his hands into the mix. He caressed Sherlock’s stomach and hips until he finally wrapped a hand around his achingly hard cock.

A choked moan escaped him, his eyes closing as John pulled slowly. Before he could get used to the sensation, John’s tongue licked a long stripe up the length.

Sherlock’s eyes opened wide in surprise, but before he could process what was happening, John swallowed him down.

A strangled cry came out of Sherlock. He had never been on the receiving end before, and within the first few seconds it was obvious why this was so popular. It also helped that John seemed to be enjoying sucking his cock. Which made the whole experience that much more arousing.

Too arousing it seemed. John needed to stop, or this would be over very quickly, which was not something Sherlock wanted.

“John.”

He moaned with Sherlock’s cock deep in his mouth, making Sherlock gasp and his cock pulse dangerously.

“I’m close.”

John released Sherlock’s cock with a pop, resting his forehead on Sherlock’s thigh as he caught his breath.

“My turn.” Sherlock announced breathlessly. The prospect of feeling John’s dick on his tongue making him lick his lips.

Suddenly John was lying on him again, kissing him hungrily. Sherlock moaned in surprise, the sound losing itself in John’s mouth as he licked his way in.

Only Sherlock didn’t lose focus this time, he was much too interested in knowing how John felt in his mouth.

He raised his right leg to wrap it around John’s waist, distracting him enough to lay his foot on the mattress and use it as leverage to flip them over. John fell onto his back with a small _oof,_ and smiled up, before Sherlock dipped his head down to lick at John’s nipples.

Sherlock could feel them harden under the flicks of his tongue, switching to broad strokes and was pleased to hear the resulting moan of pleasure from John. He continued a bit longer before switching to the other one to give it the same treatment, and relished John’s grip in his hair to guide him.

Sherlock continued kissing his way down John’s stomach, letting his lips trail down his skin. Sherlock did everything he could to convey his reverence, the joy and privilege he felt from being able to be with John. He was so focused on the feel of John’s skin that Sherlock was surprised to feel something hard hit under his chin. John’s dick twitched, making it brush up and press against Sherlock’s neck. John’s eagerness was encouraging, and Sherlock found himself rubbing his cheek against John’s cock. The skin was so soft, such a delicate layer over the hard mass that adorned an exceptional specimen.

Sherlock looked up and found John watching him, looking like he couldn’t believe his eyes. Without breaking eye contact Sherlock kissed just under John’s glans. The resulting curse and flop onto his back encouraged Sherlock to nuzzle the base a bit before giving John’s cock a long lick all the way to the tip.

“Jesus f-“

The sound died on John’s lips as Sherlock licked again and again. All he heard was a slow exhale before he swirled his tongue around the glans a few times. He found a drip of pre-come, the taste bittersweet on his tongue.

It made Sherlock hungry for more.

He barely registered the string of curses coming from John when his glans pressed deep in Sherlock’s throat. Having his mouth full of John was indescribable, enough for Sherlock to ask himself if John’s pleasure was more important than breathing.

With a wet pop, Sherlock gasped for air while his hand continued pulling John’s cock. He flicked his tongue on the gland at the same time and soon felt John clawing at his shoulders.

“Stop, stop, not yet.”

Sherlock found his movements sluggish as he climbed back up to John.

“You’re incredible.” John whispered against his lips, hand cupping his jaw.

Sherlock leaned into the touch and would have purred if he was able to.

“As are you.”

A bright smile blossomed across John’s face, the one Sherlock had named the loving smile. He was so focused on it that he was caught completely off guard when John flipped him onto his back. Any attempts to protest were forgotten when John’s cock aligned with his own.

“ _Oh_.” The sound came out in a rush, like puzzle pieces falling into place in his mind.

Even though they had done this the last time, being relocated to the bed and fully naked with John lying on top of him heightened the experience. He had never felt this level of intimacy. It would have been overwhelming if John hadn’t been there with him, as they thrusted in tandem, chasing their pleasure together.

“I’m close,” John whispered against his lips.

“Me too.”

Their eyes met, and time suspended for a moment before John nodded. It was all Sherlock needed to let go. He felt his scrotum tighten before everything seemed to stop. He couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t hear anything besides John repeating his name like a mantra. The sweet sound guided him through his orgasm, each wave of pleasure quivering through his body.

Sherlock slowly became conscious he was clutching John’s back, hard enough to leave a mark. He released him, slowly regaining feeling in his arms and legs, but kept his arms wrapped around him loosely. He wished he had seen John come, but he knew he’d have other chances.

Maybe tomorrow morning.

John stirred, managing to push himself off Sherlock and lie down on the bed next to him.

“That was…”

John lifted his head just enough to be able to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked him in the eye as he finished his sentence. “Amazing.”

“Yes. That.” John replied with a content smile.

Even if they both could have fallen asleep then and there, John clumsily climbed over Sherlock to go get a flannel to wipe them clean. Sherlock watched him walk over to the washroom and back, enjoying his naked body.

Sherlock stared at John as he gently cleaned him. “I never knew.”

“Knew what?”

“It could be like this.”

Sherlock basked in John’s loving smile. The flannel dropped to the floor before John climbed back into bed.

“I could write a song with that.” He replied with a smirk.

“Does this mean you are going to run off to write or…?”

John snorted. “Shut up.”

“It is a legitimate question given your track record.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Sherlock leaned in to kiss him. “Because I’m not done with you.”

John stopped him with a hand to his chest and smirked. “Wait, that’s a good line, let me just write it down real quick-”

John laughed as Sherlock pinned him down on the bed and silenced him with a kiss.

**END CHAPTER 14**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, John's debut as a director and the Premiere! Woo!


	15. The Premiere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson's debut as the director and the Premiere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a crazy ride, and I can't thank you all enough for reading and commenting along the way at every new chapter. How many times I went back to read through them to motivate myself to keep going.  
> I hope you enjoy the closing chapter.  
> Thank you all for reading.

**Day 14 of Principal Photography – 32 days to the premiere** ~~~~

**Monday morning – Sound Stage**

“Good morning everyone.” Ms Hooper greeted the cast and crew huddled around the camera for the morning speech. “I trust everyone got the latest script and schedule revisions. The most important being the Finale rehearsals in the evenings this week. Today we’ll be filming pages 91 to 96.” She turned to Watson expectantly.

It suddenly hit Watson: he was the director now. He had been so focused on Holmes the night before, and again this morning, that he hadn’t had a chance to let it sink in. And now here he was, eyes wide as everyone looked at him, waiting for his first morning pep talk.

“Right, yes, thank you Ms Hooper.” Watson cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “Good morning everyone.” He found himself falling back into his old army ways, the captain talking to his troops. “I want you all to know that I will not suddenly become an egomaniac because I’m the director. Things will be different, hopefully for the better. But I will need you all to be patient with me. After all, it is my first time as a director. But I’m still going to do my best, just as you. Which means I am open to ideas. If there’s something you’d like to try, talk to me about it.” Stamford’s eyes went wide a bit. “I know time and money is always an issue,” Watson reassured. “But we’re all here to make a good movie. So if we have the time and the resources, I don’t see why we can’t try it out, right?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Watson?” Murray asked, making the group laugh. “I’m serious. What happened to the guy who stormed into rehearsal because of script notes?”

Watson eyed Holmes and they both fought off a knowing smile.

“He had a reality check after coming close to losing his job to a drug cartel,” Watson replied.

Murray nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Better get to it then.” Watson turned to Ms Hooper.

She stared at Watson before remembering. “Oh. Right.” She clumsily raised the bullhorn, then gave a tiny smile as she shouted, "Places, everyone!"

The set came alive to prepare the first shot of the day. Watson wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He eyed Holmes, who was walking with Ms Adler to the set, speaking in hushed voices as they always did. Watson headed to the director’s chair instead. He found himself looking at it apprehensively. With a resigned sigh, Watson sat and settled the script on his thighs. He tried to visualise the scene in his head.

After a moment looked up and felt like an idiot. The street set was up, which mean half a street and a sidewalk with three shop fronts. Holmes and Ms Adler were in full costume sitting on a park bench on stage left.

Not only was the new point of view a shock, going from the back of the studio to next to the camera, but Watson understood he needed to change his approach. He wasn’t writing anymore, he didn’t need to close his eyes and figure it out in his head. Everything was already there in front of him. All he needed to do was direct.

It sounded simple, but the truth was, Watson felt like he was in centre of a tornado, attempting to steer it without causing any damage. It was thrilling but terrifying. So much could go wrong, and they really needed this to work.

“It’ll be fine.”

Wilder’s voice startled Watson out of his thoughts.

“Sorry what?”

Wilder smiled. “Stop worrying. It’ll be fine.”

Watson blinked stupidly. He’d never really had a chance to talk at length with Wilder, but he had seen his work and respected him. “How do you know that?”

“Because you care.”

Wilder was right. Morgan, or rather Moriarty, hadn’t cared about the movie. All those tantrums, those arguments about storytelling, the long speeches about the craft, it was all bullshit. He was just putting on a show, keeping everyone distracted while he orchestrated the takeover of the Hudson cartel.

Watson could feel his blood boil. That man had brought the studio to the edge of bankruptcy, almost lost everyone in the room their jobs. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to shoot Moriarty during his speech in the tunnels.

“Watson?” Ms Hooper appeared at Watson’s side. “You ready?”

“Yes, just going over the scene.” Watson looked down at the script on his thighs and pushed down the urge to find and strangle Moriarty with his bare hands.

“I’m nervous too,” Ms Hooper whispered.

Watson smoothed the hair on the back of his head. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, don’t worry.”

“Right, thanks.”

Watson nodded and joined Holmes and Ms Adler.

“Morning,” Watson said with a small nod.

“Good morning _director_ Watson,” Ms Adler greeted with a wide smile. “I trust you slept well.”

Watson glanced at Holmes, who was blushing and mouthing ‘sorry’ to him.

Watson cleared his throat. They would need to have a discussion about personal boundaries tonight. “Yes, thank you. I trust you did as well.”

“Quite.” Ms Adler replied with a smug look and wiggled her eyebrows at Holmes.

“Stop it,” Holmes ordered her.

Watson stared at them. “Can we focus on work, please?” 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I just-” Holmes started to say when Ms Adler cut him off.

“He’s so happy, look at him.” She grabbed him by the jaw and shook his head a bit.

Holmes rolled his eyes and battered her hand away, but Watson could tell that was a real smile he was fighting off.

Watson sighed and tried to keep a collected front even though he was now also fighting off a smile and had the urge to lean down and kiss Holmes. “So,” Watson cleared his throat and looked down at the script instead. “The next few scenes are focused on how Edward and Jane are going on with their lives after their first argument. Putting on a brave face even though they feel miserable. We’ll be starting off with Jane’s shots, then Edward’s.” Watson paused, unsure what to add. “Any questions? Suggestions?”

Ms Adler stared at Watson a moment. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“Yes of course.”

“You’d be surprised how many people say that but don’t really mean it.”

Watson frowned before he remembered how Morgan would waste so much time monologuing before each scene. “Right. Holmes? Questions?”

Holmes shook his head, but he had a look in his eye, as if he was thinking about something else. By the way he licked his lips, Watson guessed what it could be.

“Oh lord, you’re going to start doing that all the time now, aren’t you?” Ms Adler cut in.

“Do what?” Holmes asked.

“The look.”

“What look?” Watson asked.

“That lusty puppy dog look.”

Watson cleared his throat. They better get started before things degraded any further and someone caught on to what they really were talking about.

“Let’s get started, shall we? Ms Adler, your mark in the bakery please.” Watson was relieved she didn’t add anything before heading to the Bakery setup. He went back to the director’s chair while Ms Adler took her mark.

Ms Hooper had the bullhorn ready in her hand, looking at Watson expectantly.

“Call it.”

She raised the bullhorn with more ease than earlier. “Silence on set!”

Watson smiled. She really was made for this job.

“Lights go, sound go, camera go. Ready.” Ms Hooper lowered the bullhorn and turned to Watson.

He faced forward and called, “Action,” without thinking about it much.

Suddenly, Watson was sitting in the best seat in the room as the scene came alive before him. No more obstacles, no more camera and light fixtures blocking his view. Just the whirring sound of the camera to his right, adding a touch of enchantment to the scene. Watson found himself letting go. He forgot about everything and just watched his months of work on the script become reality.

It took a slight nudge from Ms Hooper to remind Watson it was his job to call it.

“Cut!” Watson shook his head a bit. “That was great. Let’s go again for footage’s sake.”

They did the shot once more and Watson managed to focus on what was happening. Jane was helping customers and manning the cash register, but once the bakery went quiet, her practiced smile faded, and she stared out the window with a heavy-hearted look.

Watson had just called cut when Wilder caught his attention.

“I have a suggestion.”

Watson was glad Wilder was the first to speak up. “Let’s hear it.”

“Well, I always thought that to show distance between characters, it helped to add an obstacle in the shot.”

“How do you mean?”

“We shot Edward across the street looking at Jane, but instead of cutting to a shot of Jane from inside the bakery, we could shoot it through a window, from the outside looking into the bakery.”

Watson tried to picture it in his mind. “As if the camera was Edward looking in.”

“Yes.”

“And then do the reverse for Jane.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Watson turned and called out. “Do we have a window frame?”

“I think we might have one in storage.” Ms Hooper said.

The window frame was wheeled in on a dolly and propped onto a few wooden crates to get the right height for the camera. Wilder let Watson look through the camera lens. The effect was even better than he had imagined.

“Perfect.” He padded Wilder on the back. Watson then turned to Ms Hooper. “Call it.”

“Silence on set!”

“What’s my frame space?” Ms Adler asked as she paced behind the bakery’s counter.

Wilder looked through the lens. “From the cash register to the price board on the wall.”

Ms Adler nodded and shook her shoulders as she always did before a shot.

“Lights go, sound go, camera go. Ready.” Ms Hooper called.

“Action.”

Watson had always had a great respect for actors. Repeating the same line again and again while maintaining the energy and making it seem fresh every time, was a difficult task in itself. But for some actors, being asked to stay silent and convey emotion was like getting a death sentence.

Ms Adler was renowned for being able to speak volumes without uttering a word. And it was a joy for Watson to see her not only act the scene perfectly, but to see it more than once, to note the differences in each performance.

However, he had not anticipated that his stage directions made Jane stare straight at him at the end. She couldn’t look directly at the camera, and Watson was sitting next to the lens. It made sense that she would focus on him, but the deep look of sadness and longing was still intense to experience.

They moved on to Edward’s shots. He was to walk along the sidewalk across the street, looking at Jane work and turn away and go buy a newspaper. They would edit in Jane looking sad and spotting Edward through the window as he bought a paper, smiling to the newspaper vendor.

When Holmes took his mark, Watson was suddenly struck with the reality of the situation: not only was he about to direct Holmes for the first time, but he was finally getting a chance to see him act up close for the first time since the audition.

He looked so different as Edward, it was odd seeing him in full costume as he walked along the sidewalk to get into character.

“Silence on set!”

Their eyes met and for a moment, Holmes broke character to smile at Watson. He suddenly understood what Ms Adler had meant by The Look. Yes, that was going to happen a lot now.

Watson smiled back. “Ready?”

Holmes fixed his jacket and winked. “Of course.”

Watson shook his head before he signalled Ms Hooper.

“Lights go, sound go, camera go. Ready.”

“Action.”

Edward started walking down the street, slowed to a stop when he spotted the bakery and stared at Jane through the window.

Watson was not prepared for the sequence of emotions that came through Holmes’s performance. Even if it was as Edward, after everything they had gone through, seeing Holmes look so sad, hurt, and full of longing was like twisting a knife in his heart. All he wanted to do was run to Holmes to kiss his worries away.

“Cut.” Watson swallowed the ‘amazing’ that wanted to slip out.

Even if it made him a mess inside after each take, Watson enjoyed asking Holmes to do it again, and again. Just as with Ms Adler, spotting the differences in his performance from one shot to the next was fascinating.  

Those were only the first shots of the day and Watson was already thrilled with the experience. And they still had 14 more days of principal photography ahead of them.

* * *

 

**Day 25 of Principal Photography - 17 days to the premiere**

**Tuesday afternoon – Sound Stage**

Watson rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if they’re not playing correctly-”

“Of course it does,” Holmes cut him off. “How can people focus on the story if they’re asking themselves how Edward could have possibly won with that hand.”

Watson pinched the bridge of his nose. As much as he loved Holmes, the man was insufferable when it came to details in the shots.

“Because it’s a movie.”

Holmes crossed his arms. “You can’t use that excuse every time.”

“We don’t have time to show the extras how to play blackjack correctly.”

“You don’t have to teach them, just tell them how to react to the cards they have. It’s not that complicated.”

“Fine, fine.” Watson pushed past Holmes. “If it means you will finally shut up about it and film the scene.”

After Wilder had done the window frame suggestion, everyone on set had felt comfortable enough to give ideas. Holmes however, had grown comfortable enough that by the end of the first week he was verbalising his ideas constantly.

Holmes’s ideas weren’t the issue, but rather the arguing that came along with them. It wasn’t anything Watson wasn’t able to handle, but it kept him on his toes.

The truth was, Holmes was right about the blackjack. But Watson wasn’t about to admit that.  He took a deep breath as he arrived at the worried group of extras sitting around the blackjack table.

“Okay, let’s figure this out.”

It took over twenty minutes, but they managed to figure out the pacing of the scene so that by the time Edward joined the game, he got a winning hand. As worried as the extras were at his arrival, they were all smiling by the end.

Watson headed back to his director’s chair. “Anything else or can we film this scene now?”

Holmes was about to say something when Watson shot him a warning look.

The familiarity between Holmes and Watson had grown steadily as filming advanced. They spent all day together on set, and Holmes had mostly abandoned his hotel room for Watson’s flat. Their evenings were spent talking about anything but the movie, before falling asleep in each other’s arms, sated.

But that didn’t mean Watson didn’t want to punch Holmes sometimes.

Holmes took in Watson’s warning look and chose to stay silent.

Watson looked relieved and turned to Ms Hooper.

She lifted the bullhorn and called, “Places everyone,” and the set came alive.

They were in the last three days of filming and starting to feel the pressure to finish. They had managed to stay on schedule, despite the occasional argument, but they still had a lot left to do.

“Lights go, sound go, camera go. Ready.”

“Action!”

* * *

 

**Day 27 of Principal Photography - 15 days to the premiere**

**Thursday evening – Production meeting**

**Conference room**

Stamford stood at the end of the conference table. “Tomorrow is the take down and Saturday is the wrap party, which is why I’ve called you here tonight. I need your full attention one last time.”

“Stamford, don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?” Wiggins said as he leaned back in his chair.

“It’s just a movie.” Holmes added and frowned when the entire room turned to him with wide eyes. He leaned closer to Watson. “Not good?”

“Bit not good, yeah,” Watson fought off the urge to laugh.

Holmes cleared his throat. “I mean, please continue Stamford.”

Stamford smoothed his waistcoat. “Until we read the reviews in the papers the next morning and the movie is up in theatres, we still have a job to do. This premiere is very important, and I need you all to be on your best behaviour. Which means following the dress code as indicated in the guidelines Ms Hooper has handed you. We will all meet here two hours before the premiere for final inspection. Then drive to the theatre in order of appearance. Do we need to schedule another meeting the day before?”

There was a general grumble around the table before everyone shook their heads.

“Good. Now, let’s go through the evening once together.”

* * *

 

**13 days to the premiere – Wrap Party**

**Saturday evening – Sound Stage**

“Speech!” Stamford shouted for the third time.

“No ones wants to hear any speeches.” Watson shouted back. He had made it look like he was watching Murray trying to flirt with Ms Louise, but in reality he was focused on Holmes who was deep in conversation with Wiggins.

“Speech!” Murray shouted back and was pleased when Ms Louise joined in.

“You walked straight into that one.” Stamford teased as the chanting spread through the crew.

“Fine.” Watson finished his drink and stood.

Stamford enjoyed organising wrap parties. He always saw it as his way of thanking the cast and crew for their hard work, and to make sure that the people he had enjoyed working with would be interested in coming back for future projects.

It was the first time that the studio couldn’t afford to go out. Instead, he had consulted with Ms Hooper and after a long conversation and going over the budget, they consulted Angelo.

They decided to host the party in the sound stage. Angelo had arranged a table full of finger foods and another next to it filled with beer, wine and liquors. Not the best brands, but good enough to sustain the group all evening. It was a bit odd, seeing the small dance floor and tables in the large empty open space. But once everyone had a drink in hand, it didn’t matter.

The crew was split into small groups, some chatting, some eating, others dancing. Holmes looked deep in conversation with Wiggins, sitting a bit apart from everyone so they didn’t have to shout.

Everyone cheered when Watson stood, including Holmes, who was now more interested in what Watson was doing than what Wiggins was saying.

Small took care of stopping the record player, ever the soundman, even drunk.

“Alright then, if the director is going to do a speech, let’s do it for real.” Watson looked around and spotted what he was looking for. He headed over to Ms Adler, with Ms Kate ever at her side. They were sitting at a table with Ms Hooper, her cheeks pink from the alcohol. “May I borrow your scarf?”

Ms Adler frowned but slipped it off her shoulders and handed it to Watson.

“Thank you.”

Watson threw it around his neck and turned dramatically, chin raised.

“No.” Murray stretched the _O_ sound disbelievingly.

“Yes!” Holmes exclaimed and abandoned Wigging to come closer.

There was a murmur amongst the crew and as Watson held the pose to figure out what he was about to say, laughter began to break out.

“The act of creating a movie is similar to childbirth. Or like seeing snow for the first time.”

The crew was laughing so hard Watson had to fight not to break character.

“Together, we aren’t just making a movie, we’re making history by bringing my vision to life. Birthing it to the world. The world will never be the same after the event that will be the premiere of The Dancing Bachelor.” Watson flipped one end of the scarf over his shoulder dramatically and the crew lost it.

“Oh! Do the Queen’s dog one!” Holmes suggested and when his eyes met Watson’s they doubled over laughing.

* * *

 

**June 14 th 1950 – Day of the Premiere**

**Friday evening - Stamford Productions**

Holmes was already dressed in his tuxedo and waiting in Stamford’s office, waiting for Watson.

Watson and Wilder had worked night and day the last two weeks in an attempt to finish the movie on time. Which meant that Stamford started to panic when they weren’t finished three hours before and had Holmes bring Watson’s clothes for the evening to the studio.

It was difficult at first, spending three weeks together constantly and suddenly spending two weeks barely seeing each other. Holmes came to see Watson a few times, visit him in the dark editing booth. Even though Watson was happy to see him, it was obvious his presence was slowing them down. He managed to find other things to occupy his time, but Holmes was looking forward to seeing Watson again once the premiere was over.

Holmes was looking out the window when Watson walked into Stamford’s office.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Watson greeted.

Holmes noted Watson’s fatigue, anxiety, and apprehension, but was pleased to see no hesitation when he moved to hug him.

“Congratulations, you finished editing.” Holmes said into Watson’s hair.

“Thanks, it’s almost weird not to be sitting in the dark anymore.”

“Well, technically the premiere will imply sitting in the dark.”

Watson turned his head to lean his forehead on Holmes’s shoulder. “Oh god.”

“It’ll be fine.” Holmes repeated.

“You keep saying that. It doesn’t make it true.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so worried.”

“Because normally I’m just the screenwriter. I’ve never been the director at the premiere.”

“So?”

“You know how it was at the Cocoanut Grove?”

Holmes nodded.

“Well, it’s worse at the premiere. The cameras, the interviews, the fans screaming.”

Holmes tried to hide his apprehension. The perspective of going back to his Sigerson persona after a two week break and spending another evening of inane chit chat was torture. But it meant a great deal to Watson, which made it worth the effort.

“John,” Holmes took him by the shoulders to look him in the eye. “Are you proud of what you’ve done?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Watson smiled and shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

Holmes frowned.

“I’m also proud of you.” Watson leaned his forehead against Holmes’s. “Sherlock, your performance, the finale it’s…I’m not just proud of what I did, I’m proud of what we all did, together. But you. You’re amazing. You solved a case while starring in a movie. I can’t wait for you to see it. You’re great. Really.”

It was at times like these when Holmes felt compelled to be a better man for Watson. With everything he had going through his mind, Watson still focused on others. His selflessness was honourable.

“And you saved my life.” Holmes replied. “In more ways than you could possibly imagine.”

He revelled in Watson’s loving look and was pleased when it dissolved into a kiss. But it ended much too quickly for Holmes’s liking.

“I would much rather continue kissing you,” Watson said as he pulled away. “But if we’re late, Stamford is going to have a fit.”

* * *

 

**The Dancing Bachelor Premiere - The Theatre at the Ace Hotel**

It was a long drive from the studio to the Ace Hotel, and an even longer wait as the cars lined up along the street to be dropped off one after the other.

Holmes opened the passenger door for Ms Adler, and as soon as she stepped out the fans started screaming. She was dressed in an emerald green dress, complete with a black fur boa to cover her shoulders. A perfect look for a star on the red carpet.

As instructed by Stamford, they posed in front of the car for pictures, smiling, and waving at the crowd. Then they headed to the journalists, so the rest of the cars filled with the cast and crew could arrive.

Watson was already there getting interviewed. Holmes saw him lose what he was saying when their eyes met.

“Stop staring at him dear.” Ms Adler whispered and steered Holmes to their first interview.

By the time Holmes and Ms Adler moved on to the fourth journalist, who asked almost the same questions as the previous three, the red carpet was full of the cast and crew.

Before they could head into the theatre, they posed for pictures in front of the glass and gold doors. Then they did a few shots with the crew, the process of fitting everyone into the shot rather entertaining.

Once inside, Ms Adler tugged on Holmes’s arm. “Stop staring at Watson.”

Holmes nodded and was surprised to find his eyes looking for Watson as they slowly walked into the theatre.

The cast and crew managed to fill the first two rows, while the journalists and other notable film industry people filled the rest. Ms Adler sat on Holmes’s left side, and he was pleased to see Watson sit to his right. They nodded to one another, and when Ms Adler cleared her throat, they both looked away, focusing instead on Stamford’s opening speech.

“Good evening everyone.” Stamford smiled. “I want to thank you all for being here with us tonight. As you are all aware, it was rather a bumpy ride to make it here tonight, and it wouldn’t have been possible without the wonderful cast and crew here tonight.” He beamed at the first two rows but paused a long moment when his eyes met Holmes’s. “I can’t thank you all enough for your good work. Now, it is my great pleasure to present to you, starring the great Irene Adler and newcomer Sigerson Holmes, written and directed by John Watson, ladies and gentlemen, The Dancing Bachelor.”

The crowd applauded, but it was nothing compared to the loud hooting that came from the first two rows. They settled as the room went dark and the screen lit up, with the opening notes of the main theme filling the room.

Holmes felt himself relax when Watson’s leg press against his in the dark. He hadn’t realised how nervous he was.

The bakery set appeared on screen and Holmes was surprised to see how everything looked different on camera. He was expecting a distortion due to the camera lens’s luminosity intake, but seeing it up on screen now, well, he was impressed. It really did look like a bakery. And a street.

Ms Adler was the first character to appear on screen. She looked beautiful of course, and her portrayal of Jane was perfect. But it was nothing compared to Edward’s entrance.

After having spent most of his initial research for the part watching musicals, Holmes had to admit it was rather odd to see himself on screen. Only it wasn’t him, it was Edward.

Holmes wasn’t sure if it was his performance or the way it was edited, but Edward made quite an impression. He walked into the bakery looking completely out of place, and when he was about to leave stumbled into Jane. The entire sequence took about a minute, but the audience was charmed.

Holmes found himself thinking of Ms Hawkins. After all, his performance of Edward wouldn’t have been the same without her. 

The first song started on screen and Holmes found himself twitching. It seemed his muscle memory wanted to dance along. He was even more surprised when Edward jumped over the fence in the next scene. The one that lead to Holmes landing on his face and required stitches.

Obviously, Watson used the first take, the one in which he got the landing, and the next shot Edward’s hair was different, to hide the stitches, but it still worked. Holmes turned to Watson, who was smiling.

Watson leaned closer to whisper, “It worked.” He didn’t lean away.

Holmes chuckled and continued watching. He twitched through the next two songs and was pleased to finally get to see the results of the window shots. Wilder was right, the visual barrier deepened the sense of separation between the characters.

They continued onto the casino scene and Holmes smirked throughout the blackjack sequence. When the crowd laughed in the right places, he couldn’t help but turn to Watson to gloat.

Watson rolled his eyes and whispered, “Shut up.”

By the time they got to the finale number, Holmes could tell the room was sold, because he was. He slipped his hand on his thigh and was relieved to feel Watson’s fingers look for his. They tangled as many fingers as they could manage without making it obvious and watched what Holmes now considered their song.

Even though it was terribly romantic, and something he never would have been remotely interested in before, Holmes found himself blinking away tears when Jane and Edward embraced.

The crowd broke into applause when the screen went black. They reluctantly moved apart when the house lights came on. Holmes barely had time to compose himself before Stamford was pulling him up to hug him.

“Thank you Holmes.”

He was already so shaken by seeing the finale that Holmes hugged back.

“Glad I could help.”

When Stamford let go, he quickly made everyone stand to bow at the audience. At some point the crowd started hooting and cheering, which caused confusion amongst the crew, until they spotted Murray and Ms Louise kissing.

When they applause died down, Stamford made Ms Adler, Watson and Holmes come up on the screen to answer questions.

“Thank you everyone, thank you,” Stamford said. “We’ll be taking questions now.”

A man in the fifth row stood. “Congratulations, the movie was wonderful.”

“Thank you.” Stamford replied first, but everyone was smiling.

“Why is the movie in black and white?”

Stamford laughed. “Budget reasons. The first time we filmed was in colour, but when it came to reshoot with Holmes, we couldn’t afford coloured film. So black and white it was. But I rather thought it looked good.”

“Mr Watson, this is your first time directing, correct?” Someone further in the back asked.

“Yes.”

“What parts of the movie where directed by Moriarty?”

“Um, about a third of the movie.”

“And you also had to rewrite the finale?”

“Yes.”

“That’s quite an accomplishment.”

Watson nodded. “Thank you, but I didn’t do it alone. Wilder, our cameraman and editor, was great help for planning out the shots we needed for the editing process. Ms Adler and Holmes almost directed themselves. And the crew, well this was their second time filming it, so they knew what they were doing. It was a team effort, I assure you.”

“Watson insists on being modest, but I assure you he directed everyone with respect and was able to listen to ideas and use what served the story best.” Ms Adler cut in.

“Did you enjoy directing?”

Watson nodded. “I did, very much so.”

“Are you pleased with the result?”

Holmes raised an eyebrow at Watson. Ms Adler joined in, waiting for his response and making the audience laugh.

“I am, very much so,” Watson reassured. “But the opinion that really matters is the one that ends up in the papers tomorrow.”

The room laughed.

“Ms Adler, how was it changing directors during the process?”

“It was difficult at first, but Watson did a great job at making the process as painless as possible.”

“Holmes, how about you? Changing directors halfway through your first gig?”

Holmes eyed Watson a moment. “It was a very unique experience. But a delightful one.”

“Can we expect to see Holmes and Ms Adler pair up again soon?”

Watson shook his head. “Listen, we cut the last pieces of film about three hours ago. We haven’t really had a chance to think about the next project yet.”

“But we’ll let you know.” Stamford added suggestively, making the room laugh.

* * *

 

**Saturday evening – Day 1 after the premiere**

**Ms Adler’s house**

“And even though the premise of the romantic arc is common, the portrayal of Edward and Jane, along with clever dialogue, brought a depth to their characters and to the story that culminated in a refreshingly intimate song.” Stamford paused to eye Watson and continued to read to paper. “Ms Irene Adler’s performance excelled, as always, but seemed to shine brighter by newcomer Sigerson Holmes’s side. He is a force to look out for. His charm and looks are enough to get noticed, but once he starts dancing it’s impossible to look away. Despite the recent threat of the Hudson cartel that almost ended the production, this movie is a must see.”

Stamford put down the paper and smiled widely. “It’s like this in all the papers, but this one is my favourite. I think I might frame it.”

“I’m fine with the poster thanks,” Watson replied.

Watson took a sip of his drink and leaned his elbows on the table. “Stamford, don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled about the good reviews, but knowing you, if you had your choice we’d be in a restaurant right now. And Ms Adler, I thank you for being our host and inviting us here, but can we stop with the chit chat? Why are we here?”

Ms Adler insisted that they have dinner the day after the premiere and would not take no for an answer. Holmes and Watson had been surprised to find Stamford and Ms Hooper already sitting with Ms Adler at the dinner table when Ms Kate ushered them in.

Stamford wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “I wanted you to be the first to know there will be some big changes at Stamford Productions.”

Watson frowned. “What kind of changes?”

Stamford paused. “Ms Adler will be co-owner of Stamford Productions.”

Watson eyes widened. “What?”

“It was Holmes’s idea.” Stamford added.

Holmes shook his head. “What?”

Watson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Will somebody just explain what’s going on?”

“Holmes was made aware of my arrangement with Moriarty, that I would be the new producer after the take-over and suggested the idea to Stamford.” Ms Adler explained.

Holmes turned to Stamford. “When?”

Stamford looked surprised by the question. “The morning I dropped you off, after we spent the night at the police department. Don’t you remember?”

Holmes pursed his lips. “My memories while under the effects of the LSD are a bit… muddled.”

“And you just said yes?” Watson asked Stamford.

“Well,” Stamford sighed. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind the help. Holmes, he made some good points about financial investments and how her knowledge of the industry would be an asset. It took a lot of negotiating but I am quite happy with our arrangement.”

“And I will finally get my own office with Ms Kate as my executive assistant.” Ms Adler added, stretching her arm out to hold Ms Kate’s hand.

Stamford continued. “Which means Ms Hooper will also be relieved of the full workload and have more time for other things. Which brings us to the other matter we wanted to discuss.”

“Which is?” Watson asked.

“They want to offer you a deal,” Holmes cut in.

Watson’s eyebrows raised. “Me?”

“Yes,” Ms Adler replied. “Three more movies. Writing and directing. With Ms Hooper as your assistant, assuming you still want to work with her.”

Watson eyed Ms Hooper. “Of course, but…” He leaned back in his chair and looked at a loss for words.

“Ideally including a sequel to The Dancing Bachelor, the other two are up to you,” Stamford added.

Watson huffed derisively. “As long as it’s a love story?”

“No. Write whatever you want.” Stamford said with a soft tone. “Holmes told me about your other scripts John. Why didn’t you ever tell me about them?”

Watson turned to Holmes who looked apologetic.

“That was probably due to the LSD as well.” Holmes said.

Watson shook his head. “I never said because I’ve seen your books, Mike. You can’t afford a risk.”

“It’s not a risk if Holmes is in it.” Ms Adler argued.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Holmes cut in.

“What?” Watson asked.

“This is your idea, I’m certain of it.” Holmes said to Ms Adler, who feigned innocence.

“What?” Watson repeated.

Holmes shook his head and covered Watson’s hand with his own. “They’re offering you the deal because they know I won’t be able to say no if you’re the one asking me.”

Watson blinked a few times before turning to Ms Adler. “Yeah, you’re perfect as a producer.”

Ms Adler smiled. “You heard the reviews, it’s good business, we’d be fools not to try. And we all work so well together.”

“She’s right,” Holmes admitted.

Watson frowned at Holmes. “Are you trying to convince me?”

“Well, the LAPD contacted me a few times while you were editing with Wilder and, well, it’s not the Yard, but it’s a new crime demographic, it could possibly be worth exploring a bit it.”

Watson looked at Holmes disbelievingly. “You want to stay here and solve crimes? While juggling an acting career?”

“What can I say, I enjoy dancing. And I get to spend all day with you.”

Watson blushed at Holmes open flirting. They knew this was a safe space for them to act freely as a couple, but Watson still had some getting used to.

Watson turned to Ms Adler. “Two movies, with complete creative control?”

“Under the condition that we do the sequel to The Dancing Bachelor first and the box office is as good, of course.”

Watson paused. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Ms Adler raised an eyebrow. “How badly do you want creative freedom?”

Watson leaned back in his chair. “I’ll think about it.”

“I thought you would.” Ms Adler held her hand out and Ms Kate pulled a folder from under the table and handed it to her. “Here’s a copy of the contract. Look it over. When you’re ready, you know where to find me.”

Watson laughed and shook his head as he took the paperwork. Holmes took it from him and started looking it over quickly.

“Don’t worry John, we can always get out of it by faking our deaths. We could go back to London and solve crimes together instead.”

“That would be a neat trick.” Watson chuckled and paused, suddenly lost in thought.

Holmes tightened his hold on Watson’s hand to get his attention. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I uh-” Watson turned to Stamford. “Do you have a pen?”

“Ready to sign the contract already?”

“No, god no, I just-” Watson closed his eyes, tried not to let the idea slip away.

Holmes suddenly recognised what was happening. “You really need to learn to carry a notebook around.” He slipped a pen out of his inside jacket pocket, took out the contract and flipped it over.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's over. I've been working on this for a year non stop (I say that, but the three new WIP that appeared while writting this beg to differ) and to suddenly have it come to an end is, well, a relief, but I'm not quite sure what to do with all this free time.  
> I want to thank again @novemberhish for the prompt, and the wonderful @may-Shepard for adding that little detail (make it a musical!) that made me go OMG I MUST WRITE THE THING RIGHT NOW.  
> Here we are, one year later witih 80k and a song/video.  
> Thank you to Hubblegleeflower for creating the Fic Writers’ Retreat, which lead me to meet a group of wonderful talented women. Who knew a year we'd be cosplaying and making out on video for a fic.  
> Thanks again to @nautilicous, Fox Courage and Zala for saying YES to participating in this project. You are the best and can't wait to thank you again in person next summer.  
> Also a special thanks to Nanowrimo who helped me finally get through the first draft. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Please kudos and comment!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all for reading!!!  
> Kudos and Comments are welcome :)  
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://shamelessmash.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover Art] for A Case of Identity – The Musical](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325097) by [IamJohnLocked4art (IamJohnLocked4life)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/pseuds/IamJohnLocked4art)




End file.
